In the frost-breath of twilight, where whispers of ivy patch the path, follow where the sun's reluctance brushes. Beyond the crooked oak's embrace lies a semblance of the forgotten; tread lightly upon the path cracked like the whispers that come from old tomes.
When time eases into the silken breath of night, turn thrice to the right; listen as the stars murmur celestial syllables. Hint of the hidden beneath lies there, marked only by shadows cast by the waning gibbous.
Away from the hearth where ancient embers leap, veer down the labyrinth lane overgrown under a canopy of wind-strummed hush. Apparitions of the river trace seraphic arcs amidst the wilderness grasp at nebulous formulate secrets.
Destined destinations await, see beyond the tangible, below the crystalline moon: