In the hush that painted the gathering dusk, there lay an echo of the garden’s breath —
ethereal, elusive, a sigh strewn through gnarled vines. Hints of forgotten laughter
woven into the shadows as they danced among the mists.
Follow the whispers and feel the pulse of the ancient soil.
There, beneath the moon’s watchful gaze,
the petals unfurl their secrets, clinging to the dark like silent oaths.
Each step into the garden is a step beyond, a venture into realms unseen.
Can you hear the chant of the nightingale woven into the fabric of stars?
The air, thick with the scent of a night's reverie,
fills the lungs with memories of an age untold.
A place where dreams are sown and left to wander,
forever seeking the phantom bloom that stirs the heart of time.