In the tender throes of twilight, where shadows weave capricious forms, a parchment of secrets slowly unfurls.
Is it a dream, or the amount of dream we find in nightmare? The hydra speaks with a tongue not its own, a serpentine alphabet woven into the very air.
Equations of stars, hidden among rusty autumn leaves, waiting for the ink of rain to illuminate forgotten paths.
Whispered Secrets | Layered Reflections | Reverberations
Awakening Patterns