I climbed the interminable spiral of dreams, each step echoing upon the stones of time. The spire, cold and silent, whispered secrets along the rhythm of the octopus ink, clawing through the veils of reality.
We speak in tongues unknown. In the shadows beneath the vaulted sky, vine-like limbs of darkness caressed the memory of light. Was it morning? Or perhaps another dusk kissed the ocean's edge, forgotten within the abyss?