"Whispers that dance upon the edge of twilight, just out of reach..."
Picture this: a shimmer, a flicker—you thought you saw something, right? A shape, an echo of what could be. Like chasing shadows across the obsidian sea.
Remember the taste of that orange sunset? Amply radiant, dripping with hues that felt like a concert of colors all applauding for starlight to take its throne.
"Echoes are merely shadows of sound... until they aren't."