The pages, the leaves of books not known, (whisper themes of) shadows moving between flickering fires. Once, they danced, once they sung ephemeral melodies known only to the stars.
Here lies an abyss, an unseen vastness between one thought and the next. Touch it not, lest ye find what lies beneath.
The winds carry tales of courage and folly, drawing lines in the sand that time ceaselessly erases.
You stand at a precipice, unmarked, where the horizon thins amidst boundaries carved by stars.