Once upon an hour, when time decided to suspend between breaths, the light began its glorious retreat. It whispered secrets to the shadows that slumbered at the fringes, awakening them to dance in the melancholy of exit. Echoes followed, casting nets to capture the intangible.
Amongst the gathering gloom, a singular question unraveled: What shadows cast shadows when no light is there? The darker whispers said it mocked itself in a mirror of absence.
The moonshine glowed, a beacon of distant memory, recalling all that was luminous yet fleeting. The shadows murmured verses only they understood, rhymes of cosmic absurdity and ambiguity:
"A feather in the shoe of a sunken ship, sailing on invisible oceans."
The caverns echoed this thought, as stalagmites and stalactites consolidated their silent opinions with a slow drip... drip... of intangible wisdom.
In the end, as light ebbed further, a new dawn emerged, not of day, but of midnight's choice... and the shadows laughed, an absurdist symphony beneath a moon that knew too much.