In the hushed hours of the pre-dawn, the curtains swayed gently; not stirred by wind, but seemingly by an unearthly presence eager to share its saga. It was during these fleeting moments that she heard it—the soft murmur permeating the velvet stillness, the voice no earthly creature could host.

"Whisper of ages," she muttered to herself, wondering if anyone else perceived the tale unfolding within the folds of Time. Was it real, or had she merely woven it from threads of her own longing?

Shadows danced at the periphery of her sight, friends who existed at nightfall—a carousel of stories waiting at the edge of oblivion.
Unfamiliar warmth shrouded her senses as fragments of memories she never lived stitched into truths she had forgotten.

...in a world where leaves rustle navy secrets and trunk wisdom's eternal, she found herself standing amidst whispers that unveiled unseen lands:
a meadow where grass was woven from silver fire, and the horizon brimmed with aerosol dreams.

Is it here, she thinks, or simply there—in the visions she dares to dream past the curtain’s edge?

Her hand gently touched the fabric, a portal into layered existences where whispers evolved into knowing smiles. If she listened, truly listened—the world stretched expansive, breathing galaxies beyond.

As the first light grazed its golden fingers upon the world, the whisper waned; a subtle nod to return later, or perhaps, never again.

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