Wisps of consciousness and shadows unfold, a tapestry of nuanced silence woven under the starlit gaze. Listen closely, they say, for the dreams held too long in the space between heartbeats, with voices softer than forsaken echoes.
In a land stitched by twilight, perfumed with the essence of forgotten myths, colors dance and intertwine like phantoms in the moon's tender embrace. The air, thick with unuttered tales, resonates softly—a language drowned in the solemn hymns of the night.
An old wooden bridge extends endlessly, connecting the known to the unspoken, adorned with luminescent vines whispering symbiotic secrets of the forlorn. Beneath, a river flows with memories of all the dreams yet to awaken.