Once in the shadowed hallways of adobe-stained envelopments, a whisper cradled the night, but the moon was not our light. Instead, cold reticent stars bore witness to an unseen ruin, etched into fog as memory's tapestry unraveled.
I remember a place where patience found refuge, nestled beneath the weeping boughs of oaken giants. A cathedral of silences where echoes were the wandering souls’ secrets.
Seek paths untrodden here.
Broken mirrors do not lie, reflecting only what we fear to mend. Each shard a haunting visage, a collage of what might have been if not for the certainty of twilight.
You might stumble upon whispered tales in forgotten chapels, remnants of singed parchments telling the fables of time before silence reclaimed its dominion.
Murmurs announce the arrival of night's sovereign undefined in shadows, rustling through the pages of an unbound dream, asking, and asking again, for those who will find.
The clock strikes not its hour in hollow spaces, nor vibrates the tethered heartstrings across the empty astral flow.
Beyond the veil, where the winds carry the weight of stones embedded deep in the soil, lies yet another emergence, a scattering of stars that dare to dream.