Somewhere in the crumbling folds of yesterday's horizons, futures lay dormant, swathed in soft shadows. They whisper echoes from the edge of oblivion, unraveling time's tapestry where memories dissolve like mist.
The air here tastes of twilight, a bittersweet concoction of hopes once tendered and now left to serenade the starlit void. Among the ruins of dreams, the winds carry fragmented visions, each an untold story teetering on the brink of dawn.
Touch the stars, they say, for they are but seeds of the future waiting to blossom in the soil of unfathomable time. Yet, with each touch, they fade into whispers, leaving only the scent of forgotten realms and the echo of your footsteps.