In the hushed whisper of the eternal twilight, a fragment of memory flickers—a rusted key, mottled with the fragrance of time's relentless embrace. Clutch it close, for it whispers secrets of doorways untraveled, offering a glimpse of a world unblemished by the perils of dreams.
Lo, beneath the celestial tapestry, lay an orb of crystalline sorrow, refracting echoes of laughter long extinguished. Tread lightly, for its prisms cradle the echo of a world adrift in the labyrinth of existence, its hues a symphony of unarticulated grief.