It was whispered among the hidden avenues, where light scarce dared to intrude, that a shadow had taken form—a form palpable enough to walk the cobbled streets, yet intangible as an ancient melody.
In the murmurings of dusk, it stepped where silence had dwelled. A figure, enshrined in indeterminate whispers, crafted from the lingering notes of forgotten eulogies. Was it a ghostly echo from realms unseen, or the faded recollection of worlds long past?
Trace the echoes or wander without knowing the beginning, the middle, nor end—each step less tangible than the last, fading like the sigh of wind through an unseen alley. Like an odyssey composed not of miles crossed, but of the myriad silvers of light misplaced in shadow’s embrace.
The cobblestones underfoot held stories sealed within each crack and crevice. They bore witness to the faint stridings; where shadows tread, they leave no impression but memory. Wander onward to where shadows spill secrets, and legends turn to myths, myths to dreams.
In the twilight, behind veils of time, reside the keepers of shadows. They whisper tales unseen by waking eyes, safeguarding the fragile dance of nocturnal forays.