In the aurora's whisper, a chamber unfolds beneath a sky shimmering like hidden stars crying tears of frost. Within this realm, time runs like frozen water—still, yet eternally flowing. Aurora lights breathe life to the shadows on a night where silence drinks from the echo of voices unheard.
He walks, a solitary silhouette, tracing paths unseen, untouched by footsteps of yore. The air bites softly, reminding him of warmth lost, of embers whispered into story. Dance with phantoms, he thinks, as the icy mist umbraes his thoughts.
I am Icy Breath. Or is it that I am not, more than a specter caught in this hiss of silver glow? Round each bend in the crystalline walkways lies a memory kissed by frost, haunting, dancing, his fingers tracing letters in the opaque white—a message from heart to heart.