Between the whispered panels of velvet gauze resides an ancient etching—traced not on parchment, but in the intangible wisps of memory that dare passage with every deliberate step.
You hear it, the delicate brushing of unseen spirits along the seam of existence, threading dichotomies with threads invisible yet undeniably tangible.
The footfalls of epochs worn—where once the laughter of those untold painted crimson into now; where visions leak from paused time like phantom ink from clawing quills—the entire procession a library of echoing breaths.
Through ample folds of time held closely among gossamer shadows, wander. Discover yourself in every ripple lined with question marks, each mislaid turn finding meaning in destination's whispers.
Did you travel with premonitions? Or does your shadow dance anew under unfamiliar stripes?