You ever sit and listen to the grass? The way each blade catches stories from... well, wherever secrets come from. I once heard it whisper about a dancer, floating through dreams when the sky bleeds orange. It's strange, how the wind carries those fragments, like postcards from the universe.
Just last night, beneath a star that blinked oddly, I caught its breath again. It was humming tales of long-forgotten paths in the forest, those where moss carpets the ground so thick it feels like stepping on clouds. Or maybe it was a hint of something more elusive—a shadow that never quite touched the ground.
And if you lean in, closer to where the breeze curls, you might just catch a name: Lirael. Soft, like a secret meant to be shared only between kindred souls adrift in the twilight.
Follow the Secret Path