Beneath the whispering veil of evening, I tread lightly where shadows dance. Stars stitch themselves across the fabric of dreams, nebulous and disenchanted.
Reality blurs: a grandfather clock, solemn in the attic, strikes thirteen; its chime reverberates with echoes of time untold, unfathomable.
The celestial tapestry weaves stories: of a pond reflecting the moon, speaking to frogs in rhymes familiar yet forgotten.
A portal, masked as a mirror, invites you into another passage, where syrupy dreams coalesce into vivid oblivion.
And then, the stars - do they know, or are they mere witnesses? Whispers forgotten spiral into the night's embrace.