In the realm where time tiptoes softly upon the edge of twilight, whispers dance with shadows, refracting through prisms of forgotten dreams. Each word, an echo, lingers like the fading scent of blooming darkness, rich with secrets untold.
Consider the tapestry woven by moonlight upon the diaphanous veil of night—each thread a sigh, suspended between breaths. Words slip through like grains of sand, cascading in slow, ponderous beauty, losing themselves in the desert of a fleeting reality.
In every corner, pale specters unfurl their wings, fluttering behind what you think you know. They are the dreams that slipped through the cracks of time, whispering to one another, refracting reflections you cannot see.
Hear the silent symphony