Wrapped in a silken twilight, the Empress drifts through the velvet vortices of time, her form an ethereal mixture of whispers and shadows. Cloaked in a robe that mirrors the starry abyss, she walks the corridors of memories not her own, yet familiar in their distant echo.
“Whence comes the dawn that follows the midnight of our minds?” she muses, her voice a gentle ripple through the heavy mist that cloaks the vastness of her realm. With each step, the ground beneath her dissolves into a tapestry of shifting hues, threads of golden mist weaving tales of the past and hints of futures unnoticed.
The air is thick with the scent of ancient secrets and the taste of cosmic dreams. Stars flicker as though remembering their birth cries in the void, while the moon, an old friend, watches silently from its forgotten perch.
Follow her path, should you dare, through the labyrinthine echoes: Emerald Relics, or witness her dance with the celestial winds at Star Sovereigns.
In this dreamscape, all is possible. All is permissible. All is remembered.