“Did you see it?” she asked, her voice a faint ripple on the surface of forgotten lakes.
“See what?” came the response, hesitant as if stepping onto thin ice.
The echoes twisted through corridors not walked, winding like a thought lost mid-sentence.
“The door is always open where the shadows dance,” he murmured, watching the flickers of a distant flame.
Reflections on waves never made—curved portals waiting beyond the reach of mere sight.
Follow the shadows