In the stillness before twilight, the air trembled with unsaid words and half-formed dreams. Beneath the canopy of stars, a circle was drawn, not with chalk but with memories. Step by step, they returned, these phantoms of a forgotten past.
** She was there, at the edge, her silhouette a mere whisper against the shivering light. They called her Lyra, the keeper of dreams unspoken. Her presence was felt more than seen, a gentle tug at the soul's tether.
** The rhythm began subtly, a pulse beneath the surface, drawing the dancers into an intricate ballet of time. Each spin and leap, a fragment of life re-lived, re-imagined. The boundary between reality and fantasy weaved thinner with every pirouette.
** Lyra's dance was unlike any other, a duet with shadows and echoes. As the night wore on, the watchers were entranced, caught in a web spun from the finest threads of hope and sorrow.
Would you step into the circle? Explore further or return home.