In the flicker of forgotten lanterns, a soft voice murmurs, "What dreams may drift in twilight's grasp?"

The hollow halls of memory sing a tune of lost voyages, echoes of ships never sailed.

Silently, the shadows ponder the secrets only they shall keep, woven in the fabric of night.

Amidst the endless pits, a single star twinkles, a beacon of what once was.

Whispers of ancient tomes speak of skies that bleed and lands untouched by time.