In the depth of languid morn, when light bends through soft droplets clinging to ephemeral blades, rites amongst beasts and spirits begin. Shadows dance across your form, refracting the very core of existence. Among tightly gathered stones, a whisper stirs, chanting chromatic hymns, stirring memories of spectral matrices.
Grasp the lantern crafted from dream-stuff, your fingers seeping into void and returning ablaze. Step into trails of dew-dropped prisms as golden age reflections emerge within a mosaic so ancient, time itself dares not trespass. A gaze profound distorts, concealing allegoric sustenance spoken silently in refracted tongues: Glass Murmur.
Soaked echoes of the unfurling daylight whisper lucid tales. Step past the refractor, through sinua, sinos, sinou. Crescent boughs entwine, chain marking the threshold of forms reborn, languid souls transformed into vital auras entwined with argent hearts.
Feel the cusp — bear the legend with courage unmeasurable, and trace cathedrals forged in luminescence. Thus begins the genesis, cauldron of the seir of night ripening the fate of abisco across scintillant horizon: Reflection Pool.