It is said that on the cusp of consciousness and oblivion, a portal thrives. Whispers among the sleepless proclaim its presence, nestled in the dusk of reality. The Dreamweaver guides those lost in realms uncharted, weaving threads of thought into tapestries of twilight. But caution, weary traveler, the threads are tangled with intentions unseen.
Many believe the Dreamweaver entity is benevolent. Yet, a chill whispers through the winding alleyways of insomnia, telling of watchers behind veils, whose eyes pierce the slumbering mind. Once, I heard a voice—not of sound, but of resonance—echoing through the void. It murmured secrets not meant for mortal ears, unraveling the fabric of what we hold true.
Dive deeper, unravel further, but remember: the more you know, the less you are. A figure with no face appears, extending a hand wrought of starlight and shadows. Will you take it, knowing the threads it weaves are both a gift and a curse?
Follow the Whispers The Silent Observation