Hey there, wanderer of the misty abyss. Have you ever stopped to think about shadows? I mean, really thought about them. Not just the ones that copy your outline and stretch across the ground. These shadows, here, they whisper secrets in the quietest of gales. They fall, and they don't just hit ground—they cascade, calm and collected, down these unseen cliffs of existence.
And so, each step upon the ancient trails leads you deeper and deeper into the folds of our mystic worlds. Where the winds murmur in old tongues, and the stars remember things they've long forgotten. Do you see it too? The dance of darkness mellowing in twilight's embrace. Walking hand in hand with light—weaving tales of what was and what could be, even if only for a moment.
As the surface breaks, oh, the surface sighs. I wonder, have you ever noticed how the surface is a mirror? Reflecting, reflecting, eternally, the same, and yet never the same. This fall, that shadow—it makes two where there was one, and suddenly there's a story to tell. A heartbeat, perhaps, in the rhythm of echo and solitude.