"The sound of rain, a forgotten lullaby..."
In the age of whispering seas, beneath the endless vault of falling stars, the echo spoke. It spoke of distant realms where shadows danced in the twilight.
"I remember the scent of blooming jasmine, lingering over the hills..."
The past murmurs softly, a ghostly serenade to those who dare to listen. Through the mist of time, voices weave tales of what was and what could have been.
"Once, under the watchful gaze of the crescent moon..."
The tales unfold in fragments, stitched together by threads of silver mist. They speak of love and loss, of paths taken and paths forsaken.
"The clock struck thirteen, and the world turned sideways..."
In the corners of forgotten rooms, whispers linger, wrapping stories in an embrace of shadow and light.