In the corner of a child's eye, unwatched, the shadows tell stories, ancient tales colliding with modern dreams, whirling endlessly, chasing in circles, like lost kittens in a yarn factory of time. Do you see how the moon laughs at them? Cryptic beams tickling the darkness, turning it alive with a fuzzy warmth and a distant chill.
Imagine a world where ghosts hang like forgotten breezes, swirling and twirling between the endless pages of a book never finished. The stories they weave spin webs across the mind, echoing in the rustling leaves, whispering secrets they dare not say aloud. A friendly giant with soft clouds for hands, stroking the sleeping ground, where little creatures dream of faraway places.
Have you ever heard the clock tick backward in the dead of night? A countdown to something sweetly sinister, softly sinister, where laughter echoes in the voice of a thousand sighs. The door creaks, the window shivers, and the story takes a breath, waiting, waiting for the child within to awaken and join the dance with phantoms.