The Chronicles of a Forgotten Tide
A soft whistle carried across the sand, a sound akin to a distant ocean singeing salt and memory. Marisol stood upon the misty precipice of history, peering into the void where once thrived the cacophony of life's endless rhythm.
"This place crumbles like the pages of Nellie's journal," she muttered, sinking to her knees amidst the desolate ruins of an era long eclipsed. Each page, a fragment of a once-vibrant chronicle now disintegrating into whispers.
There was talk, in scattered circles, of a lighthouse that pulsed with nebulous light. Annabelle claimed her sighting one evening painted with hues of violet and despair. But those watching the stars from summit and crest knew only shadows at their backs.
Years spun by like whispers through a graceless corridor, with corridors of fate that twisted equally towards oblivion or revelation.
Will you reach the end, or perhaps the beginning again? Explore further: