The fields were never empty, only caught between breath and silence. In the mirrored glades, whispers gather like unspooled thread.

The shadows converse in languages older than light, stitching moments from the corners of forgotten dreams.

Above the surface, the sky wears a cerulean veil—its reflections weep for what is never lost, only hidden beneath.

The stars dance their ancient waltz, blind to the world beneath their luminous expressions, as wind carries tales of a languid gypsy's lullaby.

Veins of silver trace through realms unseen, guiding the wanderers through labyrinths of light and shadow.