The frozen whisper cuts through layers of consciousness, as pale specters loom amidst glimmers that flee the warmth. Here, the velvet hush sings secrets of abandoned echoes, tracing ice-laden silhouettes upon the invisible ether.
"Beware the stillness that comes before the storm," a voice deeply embedded in primal autumn, yet vibrantly alive— it flows like shadows stretching at dusk; obscure, entrapping.
The ancient threshold remains semi-buried in sight, yet no bridge crosses this liquid expanse at dawn’s lampe. Fragments tell tales of forgotten desires clad in freezing mist, merging with unwritten requiems.
Find the Forgotten Path