Murmurs in the Void

Above, the crescent moon hung like a languid smile on the edge of eternity's vast doors. In the sepulchral chill, whispers echoed, threading through the obsidian night, murmuring secrets of forgotten realms. "What lies beneath the twilight's breath?" a voice asked, but the wind only sighed an ancient dirge.

The shadows writhe, become shapes, yet only the moon bares witness. A raven's caw resonates beyond time, and I ask myself if the echoes belong to me still. Are they memories, or have they been borrowed, tethered to the whispers of forgotten ones?

Each whisper caresses an unknown truth; cobwebs of chronicle, strands of history untold, weaved with the fingers of despair. Beneath the earth, they say, lie worlds unseen, where luminescent fungi cradle your dreams. But closer, closer now, the murmurs beckon...