In the hushed corridors of sleep, where echoes linger long after dawn, reside fragments—shimmering, elusive. These remnants of dreams, once vivid, now dulled, tell stories of forgotten realms and transient wonders. Like whispers in a conch, they beckon the curious with promises of lost magic, gleaming with an almost ethereal light in the mind's eye.
Each fragment, a world unto itself, holds within it the resonance of spectral landscapes. They are the shadows of ideas that danced and played beneath the eyelids’ protectiveness, now merely echoes of a symphony unheard.