"How long," she whispered, "until the moon washes the stars away?"

In echoes of silence, the clock chimed without hands.

The color was beyond green, a memory of what once was.

The spinning wheel of thoughts went unheard in the vast tapestry of night.

Somewhere, it rained melodies, feeding the roots of whispering willows.

Have you ever tasted the future in the fabric of dreams?

The lantern flickered, revealing shadows that spoke in forgotten languages.

A moth, guiding the lost, danced around the flame.