The moon bleeds silver into the ethereal mist,
where shadows dance in silent communion,
weaving tales of forgotten lands.
In the heart of the whispering woods,
the trees speak a language lost to time,
their leaves murmuring secrets of the cosmos.
Footsteps trace patterns on sands of another world,
each grain a universe of its own,
each echo a thread in the tapestry of existence.
Through the veils of reality's curtain,
the distant echoes grow fainter,
yet their resonance vibrates in the marrow of the stars.