In the whispering dusk, a train chugged softly through an invisible station. Its passengers, silhouettes of fleeting memories, nodded knowingly, though no destination lay on the horizon. A voice murmured from the shadows, urging to buy a ticket for the journey within.
Here, books grew on trees, their pages rustling with untold stories. The air was thick with narratives waiting to be born, yet only the wind could read their desires. People wandered with outstretched hands, brushing against sentences seeking salvation in the light of day.
You walked along streets that shimmered underfoot, each step echoing a forgotten dream. Reflections of what could have been danced before you, casting shadows of doubt and realization. Were these dreams your own, or borrowed from another's sleep?
Continue your journey: