In an age veiled behind the diaphanous curtain of time, when the earth whispered tender secrets to the night sky, there resided the rift. A chasm not of matter, but of sound, reverberating with the symphony of unseen realms.
Those tunes, woven from the delicate threads of cosmos' breath, sang of forgotten echoes and whispered through the valleys like a lover's sigh.
The flowers of starlight once adorned the edges of this abyss, blooming in hues unseen by mortal eyes, their petals delicate, translucent—catching the moon's tears, draping the rift in a silken shroud of night.
What lies within these undulating harmonies? A path of ancient dreams unfurling beneath your fingertips, singing your name in a chorus of vanishing arcs. Listen close, for the wind carries tales of old—from the silence to the symphony.
A melody resonates—a vibrato of time itself. Can you hear it? A whisper, a drop of eternity echoing within the chambers of your heart, awaiting the touch of understanding.