"Once upon a tempest's sigh, there echoed the lament of autumn's crown. Sweet whispers that have draped themselves upon the gossamer strings of time eternal." Thus spoke the fleeting shadows, their voices like golden tendrils weaving into the astral expanse.
In ages past, when the sky breathed poetry, a confounding maze was etched in the ether—a tapestry of thoughts suspended between moments unrecalled, like cryptic runes upon the textured veil of sleep. Those who wander, heed the murmurs that dance across your awareness; they are the footsteps of those who ventured before you, seeking what lies in the secret alcoves of existence itself.
A voice breaks the silence: "Do you remember the color of forgotten dreams, dear traveler?" The question lingered momentarily before dissipating into the haze, leaving only the vestige of curiosity floating endlessly.
The Valley's EchoThe Ruin's Murmur