Within the tumult of your reflection in the obsidian mirror, time reels backward, revealing only the silhouettes of moments we never grasped. Did you see it too, beneath the half-lit aura of the waning moon? A face painted by shadows, breathing life into the stillness of the night, inviting us into [the cryptic dances](../the_hallows/chime.html) of forgotten lore.
Once clutched tightly in my dreams, your silhouette remains, an elusive echo amidst moonlit pathways leading me ever onward. In them, shadows whisper pilgrims' names long recognized but never known. We twine our fingers around spectral roses, petals dropping like forgotten first words shared under centuries-old oaks standing sentinel over clandestine pledges.
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