Misshapen lanterns mark the way to unseen realms. Who speaks in echoes? Shall ghostly shadows lead you to lost memories entwined in forgotten tales?
@media pupil;
Like a drone, the whispers crawl—a siren’s song craving the unknown, a cosmic dance of empty carcasses washed ashore.
Pockets of time slip behind our eyes, swiftly gathering dust on the corners of our minds.
The drone fades into crackling silence; scattered mirrors pulse with rhythms of lost time. Threads dissolve—remainder of dreams could be lost in the lacquer of night.
Suggestions travel by flick hands, grasp a theory located in subaquea—
Motes of strange light somersault on compressed waves, revealing the labyrinth where dreams pause, hover, and drift like falling leaves.