In the quiet hours of dusk, when the world holds its breath, a melody drifts through the air. It's soft, almost like a whisper, cloaked in hues of orange and violet. It dances among the trees, wrapping around the branches like a lingering memory, suspended in time.
Each note carries weightâheavy, yet liberating. They float like leaves on a river, caught in the current, moving slowly past the banks of our thoughts. And as they pass, we catch fleeting glimpses of dreams, half-formed and unfinished, calling us to remember.
We are reminded of songs we once knew; perhaps they were ours, or perhaps borrowed from someone
else's story. They linger just out of reach, like shadows at twilight, coaxing us to listen more closely.
Dare to follow their path: Crystaldrops or Whispering Paths.