In the forest where whispers never sleep, there lies a story without an ending. A girl with a lantern, flickering in shadows, searches for forgotten echoes.

Once, long ago, the sun spilled laughter through the ancient trees, yet now only sighs remain, tangled in the branches. Her name was Meri, and she walked upon threads spun of moonlight and dreams.

Beyond the clearing, a hollowed oak murmured secrets of growing things, yet none dared to listen. Time paused there, caught between what was and what could be, concealing lost chapters of a story unwritten.

In the distance, the call of a nightingale weaved through the tangled undergrowth, its melody a sorrowful longing for dawn that would never break.

The shadows danced, not in the light of day, but in the glow of the unseen. Meri knelt, tracing figures in the earth, knowing they had stories of their own to tell, if only in the language of silence.