Underneath the ancient sea-caves, where silence is a song and the echo is a memory,
the amber glow drifts lazily, tracing the soft curves of forgotten stories told by the tides.
Here, among the glistening shimmers and shadowy waltzes, the octopus scripts its dance, dreaming.
Whispers of the deep call forth the stars, bending light into hues of desire and wonder.
The ink flows like time, creating constellations on the ocean floor.
Every pulse a heartbeat of the world, every shade a remnant of laughter lost to the waves.