In the hollow of the night, where whispers become wind, a voice tenderly calls out from the center of the spiral. Its tone holds all the forgotten songs—melodies that once danced on the edges of joy, now trapped in a perpetual waltz of solitude. Here, in the wheel of time's gentle wither, dreams linger like dust motes in a sunbeam, caught in the quiet desperation of their own stillness.
Beneath this cosmic curve, where space folding upon itself creates a cradle of silence, lies the heart's deepest gravity well. It pulls—merciless and tender—all that is cherished into its embrace. As you stand at the precipice, the horizon blurs, unraveling the threads of every memory, and you are left with the echoes of once-vibrant spirits, now mere shadows of light.
Follow the trail of fading stars to Forgotten Paths or dive deeper into the abyss at Revelations of Emptiness.