In the cavernous stretch of twilight's embrace, where shadows conspire with the whispers of the stars, the symphony of fractions begins. Each note, a dappled ripple on the cosmic pond, intermingles with the scent of forgotten flowers strewn across a silvered floor.
Gossamer threads of luminescence weave through the air, tracing the form of the spectral dancers who glide silently across the vacant hall, their figures enshrined by moonlight.
As the harmonization flows, segmenting into myriad fractions, one can hear the echoes of laughter and murmurs— the chorus of lives interwoven, now echoes in solitary splendor. Would that these echoes could narrate their tale anew, perhaps on pages unturned, buried under the dust of time.
Take a step further into the night: Echoes in Starlight or linger beside the Phantom Chord.