Tender Void

In the hours before dawn, when shadows sit heavy and silent, she spoke to the void. Her voice, a whisper wrapped in velvet, caressed the edges of the darkness, seeking solace in its embrace. The night listened, as it always did, with an ancient understanding, its breath a gentle rustle of fading stars.

There’s a song that lives in the tender void, a lullaby woven from the threads of forgotten dreams. It hums beneath the surface, waiting for those brave enough to dive into its depths. She had heard it once, as a child, in the corners of her room where moonlight danced like a stray thought. Now, it was a memory painted in hues of longing and echo.

Paths unfold, as they always do. One leads to Whispered Legends, another to Stars Are Fading. Each step echoes with the weight of choices unmade, the shadows of yesterdays that hang like specters by the doorway.

In the quiet, she paused, listening. The void sighed, and for a moment, the world felt whole again—a circle unbroken, a song unplayed. Yet the silence was beautiful, a tapestry of soundless notes that lingered in the air like a promise of dawn. She smiled, turning towards the light, ready to embrace the day.