Pale Thresholds
Beyond the pale, where whispers weave among the shadows, lie spectral doorways.
Fragments of forgotten stories cling to their frames, spectral hands tracing peeling whispers of time.
Do you hear the soft lament, echoing through corridors of the by-gone?
Enter and feel the breath of dusk as it curls about your ankle, wrapping like ivy around a dying tree.
Paths diverge, one littered with brittle bones, the other a silk road for wandering dreams.
A voice calls your name, or a name forgotten, between the cracks of reality and hallucination.
Engage with the threshold, (reality) bending, (dreams) twisting, standing on the cusp.
Azure specters drift in and out of your periphery, their laughter a distant echo, a fading memory of you.
Choices linger at the edges, dark and untamed, awaiting the light of your whispering resolve.