whispers unfurl, unseen hands tracing ancient lines, language forgotten but not lost—waiting, beyond the edges where shadows dare not linger, beyond dreams, deep buried, in earth's cold grasp— through violets and violets again, blooming over, surrounding inscriptions that bleed history, each revered relic a sentinel watching, watching, as eyes impasse stone and air breathe life, intuition speaking in tongues, vibrations unsettling, yet awe remains.
Gilded Image Murmur Twilight Gaze