It is said that the night remembers our dreams as we turn our backs to the dawn. Underneath the cloaked sky, where stars flicker like distant memories, there lies a realm untouched by time—a sanctuary for stories untold, for fables dark and deep.
Within the pages of your mind, a fragment speaks: “What is a story but a mirror, reflecting the soul's echo?” In silence, we roam through corridors of thought, past windows with no glass, facing shadows cast by the light of conscious reckoning.
"Why do we ponder upon the abyss?" asked the shadow of a voice long since forgotten. "Because it gazes back," replied the echo of a dream once alive. The quarrel continued, unending, as the stars dimmed their glow in reverence.
In quietude, we dissolve,
Like wisps of fog at dawn;
Remembering not what we were,
But what we could have been.
Visit fragments of another tale: The Eternal Echo or The Certainty of Doubt.