Beneath a sky wrapped in indigo velvet, the night sings ancient songs. Threads of time unravel as I step beyond a convention of reality into layers of forgotten realms—a well-trodden path for journeymen of old. Once, a nameless silhouette guided me in silence. They spun spools of golden moments whispered by those before us. Time spiraled, and I too danced within its sequenced embrace, a child of endless horizons.
Encounters unfold through centuries. It was 1843 when I first tasted the scent of anonymity wrapped in Victorian eloquence, masquerading at moonlit gatherings. The air shimmered like steam above the street lamps, casting ethereal sheen upon cobblestones, whispering tales through the corridors of starlit anticipation.
Click here to drift further. Or dare to challenge inevitability.