The Day the Palette Spoke
In an unexpected dawn, the hues of the magic palette began to dissolve upon the canvas of the void. It whispered an objective truth, as heard by a soul wandering in the corridors of time, a wish unfulfilled yet persistent. This narrative unfolds without embellishment, a journalistic account of an ethereal phenomenon.
Once upon a misty horizon, where colors bleed into dreams, a wish was woven. It sought to pierce the mundane fabric of existence, wrapping itself around the core of what is desired yet unattainable. Our anonymous chronicler documents this wish, as it drifts like a leaf caught in the eddy of an unseen river.
"The palette," it murmurs, "speaks in tongues of crimson and azure, but its language is lost to many." This wish, our lost soul explains, is not a prayer nor a plea, but a statement of longing, narrated with the objectivity of a reporter, yet imbued with an essence that defies logical explanation.
As shadows lengthen, the wish meanders further into the abyss. One can only wonder if it will ever find its way home. The wish remains, encapsulated in the ether, waiting for a moment of clarity, a sigil of hope amid the swirling palette.
For more tales from the unseen, consider Echo or explore the Empty Channel.