In the heart of the silent forest, beneath the sky spread like a whispered tapestry, he who remembers watches the shifting echoes. The truth hides in whispered murmurs, not in the blaze of obvious light.

What beneath the surfaces is never still, almost stories waiting to awaken — dreams dreaming themselvеs through eons forgotten. Do shadows have breath? Can they send messages in dreams?

Between breaths, the mirror repeats its tale — a story without beginning, enveloping secrets, like an ancient clock whose face is the universe threshed and threshed again.