Whispers of the Unseen
Upon the parchment of eternity, etched in shadows and shimmering whispers, lies the language of the dream-weavers. The ink, a phantom haze, dances invisibly, confiding secrets of a realm untouched, swirls a waltz of ethereal souls.
Beyond the tapestry of the well-trodden, in the emerald cups of forgotten glades, the whispers sing in liquid silvers. They tell of stars cradled in the lattice of sleep, where time meanders like a silent brook, untouched by mortal hands.
From the quivering tendrils of the cosmic tapestry, gentle truths unfurl, whispering in languages older than the stars. Listen, and perhaps you will hear the melody of the luminous void, singing softly of worlds beyond the veil.