Footsteps echo in marbled corridors. They tell stories of cosmic quilts woven by dreamspinners, gliding silently just beyond the veil of reality. Shadows elongate, stretch across realms waiting for the last flicker of light to fade away. How does one chart the map of a dream?
The breeze whispers through the cracks in existence, urging you toward doors unseen—or perhaps doors unknown. An archway to a sky unpainted, a mist on the lips of dawn, yet to rise. Listen closely as each breath blurs the line between awake and remembering a forgotten voyage.
The Cup of Echoes