Beyond the veil of somnolent dreams, nestled within the midnight garden where shadowy lilacs bloom, lies a tale uncharted, foretold by whispers of forgotten embers. Are they mere echoes or
might you too behold their sovereign dance? Dream-cold prince at the edge of dawn, draped in stardust, preceding the twilight's enigma, a twilight both inscrutable and fervid
. With a strand and stroke knit the page, banishing effulgent decay, embrace
and know the quiet ripple against molasses time. To stitch the infinite void, years lost among tendrils of ash and smoke, unfurl your perennial canvas of days carried astray.
Scripted at the harrowing journey's interface, line - unmetallic accessory of forgotten words. A prayer to the ephemeral sanctum breeched as fragile solstice split.