In the whispering fields of a faraway land, where sunlight dapples the grass with soft gold, there lies Glimmerland—a place told in stories, whispered by the wind, seldom believed, but never forgotten.
Here children speak of fairies, though nobody quite knows where they are, because if you ask the trees, they merely rustle as if giggling at a private joke.
On the edge of this enchanting place, a path runs crookedly, winding through the woods until it meets the stars. Along this path, strange footprints can be seen—younger than any child's, yet darker than the night sky. Children tread carefully here, for the footprints tell tales of the Twilighters, creatures that dance on the brink of dreams and shadows, weaving songs that sparkle with stars.
And what songs do they sing? These are songs of the unseen, melodies that shimmer like dew in the dawn but hold the echo of yawning chasms—holes that lead nowhere and everywhere at once. It's said that one might hear such a tune and find themselves stepping through an unseen door, into a world painted in silver glimmers and vibrant whispers, echoing forever.