In the core of silent boughs, dreams find a home. Lyrical messages entwined, unraveling them before dawn's blush. Hidden elegances of seasons intercepted until tamed by quill-stroked afternoons.
As the leaves cease their whisper, a call remains—echoing aloud for lost lovers in pairs, messages from distant entanglements. We become mere sylvan figures adrift on moss thread-wrapped currents.
An unseen echo replies and then is gone. Hues blend, and we are made auditory, mirroring stars across the raised pond. Sleep and solace ruled the night of unthreatening sound.
Do venture after nightfall towards Cathedral Spires lit opalescence or amble toward Serenity Proof—part past's shadows unsung.