Within the shards of nightly reverie, there lie echoes that swirl softly as whispers across forgotten altitudes. Dreams, like fleeting breath upon a glass window at dawn, leave imprints of twilight essence.
These ethereal whispers bind the tapestry of collected slumber—where one hears the sigh of past yesterdays, woven seamlessly with the dawn's woken prayers. Here, every glimmer holds a story: untold, unfurling, forgotten yet never lost.
The reality these echoes inhabit is shrouded in haunting lullabies that steal through the veil between waking and sleep. Songs that float like ashes from stars long burnt out, settling gently upon the soul's desolate shores.