In the corridors of the mind, where shadows stretch and yawning voids echo, there lies the indifference of dreams—an expanse untouched by the brush of waking. Embers of thoughts fade, consumed by the relentless dusk.
Here, patterns etched by forgotten hands linger, truths obscured by a nebula of sleep, whispered only by the sighs of an ancient wind. The truth, elusive as a mist, dances in the flickering light of a distant moon.
Once, a lone raven perched upon the edge of reason, its cries fractured the silence, yet all remained unmoved, indifferent to the spectral echoes that reverberated through hollow dreams.
Beneath the surface lies a tapestry of forgotten relics, a graveyard of memories entwined with cobwebs of despair. Here, tangible whispers linger, asking for solace, seeking warmth, yet finding only silence.