The stars weep their silent dirge,
For the world's reluctant grace.
Shadowed in whispered borders,
A tapestry of time unwinds its soul.
In the caverns below consciousness, nestled among ancient ruins, lies the Echo of a truth seldom embraced. It whispers tales of forgotten realms, woven in the fibers of yesterday's dreams.
The catalyst of this portal, a fragile flame, flickers to the rhythm of the universe's breath. In its dance, it reveals the Vision—an iridescent veil over the ugliest of truths.
Like moths to a flame, we flutter,
Drawn by the gravity of despair.
Yet through this darkness we stumble,
Towards a light unclaimed, untainted, pure.
Beyond the horizon of perception lies a mirror, reflecting the forgotten Phantom of what once was. A realm of echoes and shadows, where the ugliest truth wears a mask of beauty.