In the valleys where light bends and the air dances, lies a whisper. Not loud, not soft, but an echo of patterns unfolding eternally.
Deep—deeper than thought, this whisper wanders. Through forests of silver words and mountains of misty echoes, deeper.
Downward it spirals, weaving between shadows, lacing memories like threads in a tapestry.
Silence enfolds—it is whispering. Listen. Listen. It counts the grains of time on an unseen hourglass.
Deeper. Deeper. The open sky narrows down into a single, unanswered question, lingering in the twilight.
Corridors of Echoes
Whisper shapes that you shape into whispers, voices layered in tapestry—.
Paths intertwined with whispers. Whispers intertwined with dreams as waves upon a shore. Shift and reform, for they always—they always follow the echoes of silence, carving new trails in the cathedral of night.
Beneath lies the abyss, but above lies the harmony, whispering still.
Horizons Unseen