Deep beneath the quiet earth's embrace, crystals form. They sing silent ballads, tales of chaos knitted into serene order. Fragments of dusk, they pull at the threads between worlds, binding the ethereal with the tangible.
Countless myths swirl around them: conduits for celestial whispers, they say. Whispers woven from spectral light, refracted through prismatic veils.
Are dreams just light trapped in crystal? As stars chime their evening song, the old marsh croaks an echo between the whispering reeds, sahara dust spun in the night's loom.
The shaman speaks of openings — gateways unseen — a crystal's gaze mirrors truth, chiseled into glimmers of twilight. Can it harness older realities?
Beneath whispered city lights, sidewalks awaken under guardian amethysts, yearning towards starlit reflections.
Across desolate sunstones lay engravings in time's tapestry. The halides gather timeworn songs.
Murmurs of fractured continuity fade, casting outlines of a lost era, silhouettes composed only of illuminated sadness... or imagining.