Her whispers fell like autumn leaves, pale and forgotten, into the awaiting embrace of infinite time. Each word a star, collapsing and rebirthing in the dark tapestry of her thoughts.
In the meadow of night, constellations etched in silvered whispers mapped the heart's wandering. Beyond the horizon of day, reality blurred and meshed with a dream of dreams.
If every touch was a comet's trail, the sky would blaze with longing. To grasp the ethereal against the backdrop of what has always been—an impossible yearning.
The Labyrinth of Mirrors Chambers of the Forgotten Gem