Hushed whispers crawl beneath the midnight shell—
The cadence wraps around like an ancient tide, echoing in the chambers of moonlit silence.
In a world spun by ceaseless iteration, a cadence locked in shell's embrace.
Faint clicking, the octo-biome plethora rhythm, beyond the terrestrial hum.
Do shadows speak in frequencies unordered?
whispered corridors, understood only by drones of dusk.
Sometimes, shell enfolds the heart— like an unsung lullaby, yearning to fracture the silence.
Orchestrated through tremors feigned gentle, caressed by tendrils of unseen winds.