The Echo's Lament

If you've ever stood at a cliff in the middle of a midnight storm, you know the echoes can seem eternal. But in reality, it’s just the wind having a bit of a chat with the mountain. Ever wonder what it says? Bit of gossip maybe, a tune almost forgotten or perhaps a warning long unheard?

As legends spin from distant stars, they trickle slowly back to us through our whispers and dreams: tales where mortals graze shoulders with immortals and the lines blur. You sit on that cliff, feel the edge of oblivion — not so daunting, almost comforting in its embrace.

The Sleepless Sea

Diving below the surface of the starting foam is like plunging into eternity, isn't it? The sea's vastness gulps down your size and weight, leaving you lighter but enclosed in waves of knowing and yet not knowing. There's this hum, a murmuration, echoing secrets we forgot to ask our whispers about.

The myths tell of creatures pondering across those tides — you just sometimes see shadows swinging past your peripheral. Oblivion's neighbours, they call them, nothing more than ghosts blinking in memory of what was or what never was.

Time's Cockleshell

Time, caught spinning between whispers of mortality and bites of immortality, folds deceptively like a labyrinth. Each corner, each echo flops hours into eternity's laundry basket. You pick up the cockleshell and ask it questions about your today or your tomorrow — but do you hear answers, or only the hidden tides speaking?

This rhythmic binding of echoes catches you off-guard, doesn’t it? Standing there, smile cracking like dawn itself in whispers heard in forgotten realms your heart plays freely in.