"I told him to walk softly, but shadows never listen," whispered the ice.
Beneath the glimmer of winter's caress, the lake is a canvas for whispering phantoms.
Here, the ice murmurs secrets too slippery to grasp, and shadows craft puns out of frost.
Ever stepped on a frozen pond? The echo of your clumsiness is forever immortalized in ice.
Why does the shadow refuse to skate? It can't seem to find its figures on the ice! Meanwhile, the frost laughs, a crystalline chuckle echoing across the desolate expanse.
Now and again, a shadow leans in, asking the lake inquirer: "How deep are your secrets, oh chill abyss?" The lake replies, "Deeper than your will to sled."
"To skate upon me is to dance with your own silhouette," the lake intoned.