The Etheric Anvil

In the hollow corners of an unseen realm, shadows gather, swirling like whispers from an old book, each a flickering echo of forgotten dreams. "Do you feel the weight of nothingness?" one asks, while another wields the hammer of discontent. Between realms, they ply their craft—transmuting thoughts into substances unknown.

"We are but ghosts of conversations, lurking in your mind."
"Tell your siblings, let's make mirrors from sunbeams!"