The cobweb thoughts sail on winds of muted stars, only when the moon is blinded by clouds thick and invisible. Whispers find solace in echoes that ripple across the void, reaching for hands that gather dreams like lost moths to flickering flames.
Within this realm of shadowed letters and unwritten pagedisks of dust perform a silent ballet in moonlit spaces, moving synchronized to tunes spun by threads of forgotten worlds.
Are you the ash whispered from lengthened hallways, murmuring tales of improbable paths and laughter of walls untold? Or the sentinel of faded canopies, who weeps in silence for puzzles left undone?
The library reads itself, binds each sigh in leather tomes, stuffed between lines of spoken sunlight, weaving twilight charades beneath inkblots known only to daisies.
Whispers | Murmur | Folio