Deep within the gears of night, the clockmaker sighs, for every tick is a tale, whispered soft into the void. As the stars pivot on their celestial axis, dreams travel through these clockwork corridors, seeking respite in eternal ticking moments.
In the depths of a cobalt forest, where moonlight weaves through tangled roots, there lies a wisp. Its light dances like a forgotten aria, echoing the past in haunting harmonies as it drifts, searching for lost souls to cradle in tender glow.