In a dim-lit corridor woven with shadows of yore, murmurs unfurl from darkened enclaves, disclosing fragments of chronicle spun with golden dew. Here lies the imprint of eras long extinguished, where whispers whisper back to the wandering heart.
Seer of Vestige and Enigma, Ennio Aldous drifted through the fabric of endless time, his voice ensconced in the crescents of the moon's ephemeral embrace. Once, he chanted like a sylph from an eddy of antiquity, relaying tales inked with the resonance of deep woods untouched by modernity.
He recalled the market bazaars of Paliskara; woven tapestries dripped vibrant hues under the benevolence of sun-kissed rays. Merchants from the East converged—drenched in the perfumes of exotic wares—under the golden canopy of a noon lingering far from its periphery.
The porcelain clock trembles, its hands frozen upon the face of agony entwined with joy.
But, alas! The winds bore forth a song unhurried by human longing. An anthem cascading in epistolary harmony, resonating through every breath of twilight. Such was the nature of time, a river etching mysteries upon the stones of cosmic consciousness.
Wanderlust guided Ennio further than the shores of definite reality, where every flicker of dawn kindled the nocturnal whispers with a kindling allure, threading through stars stitched into the tapestry of the vast unknown. And there, in celestial constellation, were the veins upon which that crooked map delineated purpose.
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