The Moon, a solemn guardian of the starry sea, hums in whispers to the unfurling dreams of mortals...
Beneath her watch, the night unfolds like a tattered script—a tale of shadows and silver echoes.
Fragments of a Moonsong
In the howling silence, words weave between the grains of sand: "Once the tide was tethered to less temperamental skies, but now—ah, how it adheres to madness!"
The nightingale spoke not, but its heart resonated with unsung verses of a soul lost to lunar dances...
Sail upon the dreams cast forth from this orb, to lands uncharted and ideas unexplored.