Fables of Moonlit Beasts

In the shadow of a weeping willow, the returned sun blends with dreams of forgotten lullabies, where whispers twist upon the graphite winds. Are the stars withheld or merely playing hide and seek?

Once, a silver reverie roamed the meadows — oh, but it was not a beast forged of flesh; not a songbird upon the ebb of dusk, but rather a figment caught in the amber glow of an undying incantation.

The fog laced upon evergreen heads drips with time's syrup, and beneath a thicket of knotted roots, moon-shaped eyes open, bearing witness to the tangled narratives of wandering travelers.

Do not trust the path where shadows converse; they weave sugar-coated riddles to entrap passing souls. Speak softly to the night; for the owls bear tidings of tales—not all should be unraveled.