The whispers awaken the ancient echoes, untold stories unfurling in the twilight.
Paths twist and loop, forever unfit to be tread. In this realm, a fork becomes a paradox.
Layers of intention hidden beneath shifting sands; seek them, but find nothing.
"The mist hung low, a curtain between the worlds..."
"Voices carried through the amber haze, calling names only the dust would remember."
"In the corridors of a forgotten mind, an echo dances in empty hallways."