Upon the murky edge of forgotten tides, where waves speak in tongues long deceased, lies the shore
invisible to the naked eye. Here the sky cradles shadows, painting your path in hues of despair and mystery.
Footsteps echo in reverse, tracing designs in the coarse sands. These patterns tell stories
not of light, but of twilight and the secrets it swallows whole. Melodies crafted from whispers
drift through the air, playing backward like an ancient song escaping the jaws of time.
These shores are never found, for they seek the seeker, draw its breath in
and leave only echoes of hollow laughter among the pines.
Are we not but shadows and echoes ourselves? A question etched on the lips of the gale,
the answer hidden in the annals of a darkened melody. Dance with the wind, and perhaps
you'll hear the forgotten chorus—a requiem for the living.