Whispered shadows, they linger just beyond the edge of perception, a lingering echo of the unsaid untangled in the embroidery of silence. There is a crimson hue painted across the mind's eye, a vista unwinding, where each step echoes in raindrops rippling the surface of forgotten dreams.
The tapestry woven from silence breathes, with every inhalation a new thread woven into the fabric of time. A fleeting thought, perhaps a forgotten name or an echo of laughter, dances across the empty corridors of space, tugging at the veils of reality.
Through this mental landscape, wander the silent specters, guardians of worlds unseen, weaving their own stories in the language of the stars. And in the distance, a horizon ablaze with crimson, a promise of new beginnings - or perhaps, endings.
Beyond the dunesCelestial whispers