In an ancient library dusted with whispers,
I once stumbled upon a tome bound in twilight.
Its pages glowed with the stories of futures unspun,
Stitched together by the delicate web of time's neverending loom.
Listen closely and you might hear...
The echo of a forgotten afternoon,
Where a young girl traded joys for secrets
In the shadow of a clock that ticked backwards.
A merchant whispers tales under the stars,
His voice a caravan across the sands of time.
The jingle of forgotten currencies
Promises kept and lost, wrapped in sand.
Step through the cycle of whispers—Enter Here
Once, there was a bridge made of lullabies,
Singing as people crossed, leaving their echoes
To float like leaves on a hidden brook,
Waiting to tell the stories of those who dared wander.
An invitation rests upon the air,
Fragile as moonlight on a quiet lake.
Shall you heed the ancient call,
To where the murmurs weave their timeless spells?