In the flickering light, a figure stands at the cusp, shadows framing a face of uncertainty. Their eyes, mirrors reflecting back the expanse of the unseen, whisper truths unfathomable— a silent elegy to choices unmade and paths untaken.
The ground beneath, a mosaic of lost stories, each step a haunting reminder of the inevitability of tooth and darkness, where every bite of time devours the light, fragment by fragment.
Can you hear the whispers of old bones beneath the soil? They speak in languages forgotten, of wisdom that bears no fruit in the daylight of today.
Through the haze, a signpost appears, but legibility is a luxury of the past. Instead, abstract symbols dance in the memoirs of the soul, suggesting roads diverged in this forest of shadow.
The destination, a mere illusion in the mind's eye, guides the voyager through realms where silence echoes louder than any orchestra's crescendo in the sepia-tinted nostalgia of yesteryears.