Above the horizon's edge, where stars weave the tapestry of chronicles untold, the whispers drift. Encrypted echoes of forgotten dialogues linger in the cerulean ether.
Once, there was a resonance, a harmonic hum beneath the clouds, wrapping around the stratosphere like diaphanous threads of a celestial loom. It spoke in shapes and forms, in colors that danced through twilight's embrace.
The conjunction of the obscure petals and the silver whispers: