The cat danced upon the crescent's edge, her silhouette a fleeting moment captured in silver haze. Every leap a constellation formed, fragmented yet whole, weaving a tapestry of forgotten realms.
Below, a labyrinth of mirrors whispered echoes of dreams never birthed, places never claimed. There was a door there, heavy and ancient, adorned with carvings that spoke in tongues now muted by ages.
"To find," the cat murmured, "is not to search, but to simply exist in the shadow of possibilities." Her eyes, two luminous orbs, reflected the universe's subtle waltz, a harmony of discordant whispers.
And so she sat, poised, as Luna itself began to unravel its secrets into the fabric of night.
Enter the Grove | Follow the Shadows