The Arcane Reflections

In the quiet alcove of forgotten whispers, where dreams do not dare to sleep, the ink flows like a river.

Raindrops converse with the leaves in a dialect of centuries, unspoken and unheard.

Suddenly, the clock ticks backward, unraveling time into threads of silk and shadow.
A stranger's face appears in the mist – familiar, yet nameless, echoing through corridors of the mind.

"Do you remember, when the stars turned red and sang lullabies to the moon?" they ask, softly.
An arcane question that answers itself in the silence of the mirrored pond.

Reflections of a forgotten memory dance like phantoms at the edge of consciousness.

Here, amongst the arcane pages of ancient tomes, I find voices of those who once dreamed.
The shadow of a whisper carries words unspoken, but felt in the marrow of reality.

"Do you seek the truth within the lies, or the lies within the truth?" asks an unseen oracle.
I turn, but find only the swirling ink of the universe, writing stories in the dark.