Crimson Vows

As I touched the surface of the weathered stone, its pulse reverberated through my fingertips, a silent echo binding now and then. It whispered secrets of yore, layers upon layers of velvet whispers cloaked in the sanguine fog. Listen to the whispers in the shadows; they speak of intentions cast in stars.

Over a crackling ember, two figures emerged from the mist, speaking fragmented phrases that traveled like smoke:

• "Crimson silk traps fireflies, you know. They dance beneath the table," he said, eyes betraying unseen laughter.
• "But when the tide shifts, all dancers shall drown," she replied, plucking petals from an invisible vine.
• "Wonders have no resting places, only wandering homes," echoed the hollow sigh of a crooked willow.