In the silence where echoes begin to breathe, tiny shadows of forgotten mists dance alone. A circular waltz beneath a pale moon. Hares leap in clandestine rhythms controlled by the unperceived sonic pulse of the universe.
The hares gather where creaks of ancient timbers echo. No audience present, yet eyes unseen observe with languid interest. This theatre's vastness accommodates only their spectral choreography.
Whispers in the Void ||| The Haunting Breeze
Flickers of thought resonate, hands reaching through time, seeking what cannot be grasped. The pattern repeats, a silent paradox. From somewhere, the imagined orchestra plays on.