An endless dance, where the moon waltzes upon gossamer streams of light, fading into the ebon folds of night. The voices echo through corridors of shadows, hymns of long-lost days past recited in mournful reverie.
“Tread lightly upon the path, where footsteps melt like snowflakes midflight,” intones a voice, sweet as autumn's final bloom.
In the embrace of the azure expanse, the stars weave tales of ancient songs – a tapestry of dreams held in tender whispers.
“Do you remember,” they ask, faint traces of laughter etched in their soft tones, “when the world was but a fledgling, cradled by the gentle breath of time?”
Seek not beyond the veils for answers, but rather revel in the enigma of the unknowable, reflections in the ephemeral rivers of time.
These words, born of sighs from forgotten springs, bid thee delve into the mosaic of unseen worlds.
“And in the echoing silence that follows, a symphony of the never-quite distills,” the wind carries such musings upon its breathy sojourns.