The Paths Weren't Forgotten

In a sepulcher of shadows where time bled into silence, a cascade of whispers spoke. An echo of what should not have been forgotten—yet here they lie in state, the spectres of branching trails, calling from the dusk.

The phantom trails, unseen beneath the weight of absence, reach out with hands made of mist and murmur. Lost were the passages once traveled—worn by the memories of those who walked, halted by the spectres of decisions unmade.

Scribbled laments from the echoes: "I am an unmade decision; I am the choice never to take the leap. But I will hold you still, as long as my grip upon reality endures."

See the shadows dance at the edges, where every choice leans into the void. Remember not the trails, but the ghosts that haunt their innocence.

Dunes Beyond Remembrance
Murmured Legacies