Unearth the Whispered Gardens
In a sepia haze, the figure stumbles softly through dreaming vines. Eyelids aglow like candle flames amidst forgetting azaleas.
As they tread, the trampled leaves whisper breaths of solace, enveloped in a rememberance not their own. It is there, within the hum, that the garden unveils secrets buried beneath time’s persistence: The Keeper’s Lark sings.
Yet, silence speaks through colors’ burdened shadows; tender confession in trembling green notes. A face emerges within corded trellises—a gaze struck with mischief and shadowplays from bygone whispers.
What echoes in the palms of erased figures crawling shadows beneath root and stone? Each likeness carved anew in a parable, incomplete. Waxen lips shift, yet no words breach cracks in the evening air—words unheard, untold, promising revelation in the grip of dusk.
Fingers etch contours of ancient doors into formed moss and deft design—an entrance archway to the Inhabitant's echo chamber. A path charted by the once-spoken, now languid bough arches, addressing starlight.
Slow breaths sculpt constellations through shifting clouds overore. The path dredges eternal questions rising, cacophonic voices lost to fissure’s chorus: who waits before the lark’s vigil upon unrealized land?
Echo Labyrinth | The Seed Fable