In the quiet corners where echoes converge and shadows never lose their dance, a whispering ends and begins. Beneath the velvet cloak of the night
Listen. A rustle of dreams teetering on seams-frail as the breath of autumn leaves swirling. The time-worn walls murmur forgotten tales - tales locked in the echo of sylvan cries, spilling over the cusp of reality.
Do paths lead onward in perpetuity, or do they swim back beneath indigo streams to origins untawakened? A gateway of continued whispers anointed with the crest of mystery.
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