Whispering shadows dance on the edge of crimson dreams, twilight embraces the sun's last wail, singing softly to no one. The splintered hue of fading day, an orchestra of dying light, playing symphonies of silence.
Do mirrors see the truth or weave tales in glass and steel? Their eyes empty yet wise, watching the carousel of time spin away, each moment a carnival of forgotten echoes.
Silhouette Echoes | Fable of Luminescence