The whispers of forgotten nights linger in shadows, where golden echoes shimmer and turbulence lies sleeping under moonlit velvet. Ascend, they murmur, riding the wind across the astral plane's untrodden spheres. The ink of destiny stains the horizon, a cosmic calligraphy of truth yet unfathomed.
A muted splash as enigmatic depths open, revealing ancient secrets clad in ephemeral brilliance. Beneath, mirrored reflections of everything ever lost, twinkling in an eternal embrace.
Mystical spiral, everlasting dance. Whisper or Drift, choose where the silence resonates in piercing clarity.
Like flotsam, we endure storms; ephemeral. Yet, giving life reality, manuscripted in strings of fleeting eternity. Eyes closed, heart poised.