Underneath sprawling branches of unyielding green, lies a place where dust slowly settles. Scarce footsteps disrupt the silent quilt of decay adorning the soil. The air hangs heavy with aromas of damp earth and musty memories—a dichotomy of promise and forgetfulness.
In this grove, fragmented light dances through a dense canopy, casting jovial shadows above tangled roots. The ehrm willow stands sentinel, its long fingers mournful yet graceful, etched into legends many had narrated idly over cups of fading dusk. A misplaced world exists here, transparent in its stillness; verdant leaves echo whispered voices—outside yet familiar.