Once, beneath the shadowed trees, where the sky was shielded by a tapestry of branches, there existed a path... but nobody remembered its name. Stepping onto this path, you are entranced, perhaps entrapped, by murmurs— echoes of stories retold on endless nights. Was it a dream you dreamt before? Or a memory from another life?
The wind speaks in whispers, repeat unto itself, repeat unto itself. The trees shift, the shadows dance, and the path unfolds. A girl with a lantern walks beside you, though when you turn to speak, only the wind replies.
They say the path echoes, repeats, repeats, repeats. Silence not broken, whispers woven in the fabric of twilight, touching, taunting, ever waiting for the lost echo to find its way back home.
The girl hums a tune, a melody never heard yet familiar in its carefree sway. It wraps around you like an embrace, replacing the whispering trees until their murmurs fade, and only the hum persists. Will you follow her song? Will you drown in its rhythm, step by step, compass pointing ever onward?
Step lightly, step softly, the echoes follow. Step softly, step lightly, the forest listens. Listen, listen, to the heartbeats hidden in bark and leaf, a rhythm shared by ancient plants.
Dream Weavers