In the hushed glimmer, where shadows take form, the void speaks. Unheard melodies dance on the fringes of forgotten dreams, unwinding like smoke in a midnight breeze.
"Are we but phantoms, echoes of echoes, cast in silver moonlight?" she said, eyes closed, drifting.
Through corridors of starlit thoughts, the unspoken journeys begin. A cascade of whispers, a web spun from the threads of night.
Running down the paths of forgotten streets, laughter of the wind, carrying tales of the future, past, and now.
"Listen," whispered the night. "It knows."
As voices merge and diverge, an endless tapestry unfurls beneath the pulse of the stars.