Invisible threads bind us, unseen hands push, the doors shift, but they dare not open...
Through corridors that spiral and twist, the echoes bounce from walls spun not of stone, but old memories. Colors bleed into the marble veins, tracing lines only dreamt in whispers. The owl perches, but speaks only with wings. Time lags here, rolling like molasses – slow, sticky, inevitable.
Thoughts scatter and regroup; they are flocks in the sky, momentarily forming letters we cannot read. Beneath the dirt, singing roots beckon, and we answer lest the call cease. Shadows fold and unfold in an unending sequence of unknown rites, whispering truths yet discovered.
Catch the Dreamer's Web