Puppet String Reverie

In the stillness after breaths, moments hang like dew on webs, glistening with untold stories. Time stretches, a marionette's dance across the galaxy's floor, each star tethered by invisible threads.

Do you feel it? The gentle tug of fate's fingers, crafting tales from the silken strands of yesterdays. We are but dreams, woven into the fabric of a fleeting night's embrace.

Wander further into this dreamscape:
The Whispering Hall | Dreamweaver's Lament