It's like this, you know. You walk past the lamppost that flickers at the corner of dreams and reality. The shadows stretch out, long and slender, weaving stories in the twilight. Have you ever listened? Sometimes they speak of things forgotten, things hidden beneath the dust of daily life. It's a world stitched together with whispers, with echoes of laughter and traces of moonlight.
Just last night, I met the wind by the old oak tree. We chatted about the clouds and the way they drift, often lost in their own thoughts. They say there's a petal for every whispered secret, a veil for every unwritten story. And here we are, at the Second Veil, peeking through to find... who knows?
If your steps lead you to the silent murmurs, perhaps you’ll understand the language of shadows better. Or maybe, you'll just end up with a smile.
There's a rhythm to it all—like a lullaby sung by wandering stars. Join the dance if you dare, or simply watch as the petals fall, one by one.
And what of the first veil? That's a tale for another evening, wrapped in starlight and the scent of yesterdays. But for now, let's linger here, at the edge of the whisps.