Once, in the silent corridors of memory, there lingered a shade—a hue not quite seen nor spoken of. Viridian, they called it, whispered through the echoes, a color that tasted of forgotten autumn leaves.
The trees spoke of the time before time, where the winds carried secrets of worlds unseen. Do you remember the steps? Each one a whisper, a reverberation through the tapestry of now.
He stood there, a silhouette against the unraveling twilight, asking questions to shadows that provided no answers. Yet the silence was comforting, draping over him like a familiar shroud.
In the labyrinth of thoughts, paths fold over paths, creating a web of forgotten roads. Each choice, a step into a new narrative, yet the resonance of viridian remains in the background, constant and unwavering.