In a realm nestled beyond the fog, where time gently folds like origami swan, there lies a whispering garden of unwritten poems. Here, the air breathes murmurs of forgotten lullabies, sparkling only to the mindful stir.
Would you dare to pluck the phantom flowers that dance in moonfire? Each petal, a solemn secret; each fragrance, threads of déjà vu woven with mirage silk.
Follow the echoing footsteps on paths clouded in dusk, for they trail stories untold. Treasured gems lie in hidden pockets of this dreamscape, only to be grasped by the seer who dares to listen.