Castles of the Dreamt Tides

In the farthest reaches of the reverie, where the moon weeps silver upon the ocean of night, there lies a castle rendered in dreams. Its spires pierce the fabric of slumber, reaching for stars that long slipped through the fingers of the waking world.

Trace the whispers carved into stone, a language forgotten even by time itself. They tell tales of kings who ruled from thrones draped in shadows and adorned with the whispers of ancients.

Within these castle walls echoes a symphony of silence, broken only by the sighs of the past that cradle the present in their eternal lullaby. Windows gaze out upon voids, guarding secrets that slip between the threads of dreams.

Beyond the drawbridge of time, the moat flows with memories, each ripple a story untold. The air is heavy with a fragrance of histories untended, a bittersweet aroma of nostalgia intertwined with the sweet despair of worlds unseen.