In the corridors of the past, voices linger like shadows. Do you remember the forest door, where its hinges were melody and it creaked secrets?
"It was here, beneath the lilacs, that you promised forever in the whispers of the wind. I can still hear you..."
The echoes stretch across silent waters, rippling myths, and the quiet comfort of stars' light. Somewhere above, moonless realms paint their story.
"Have you forgotten the planar map of dreams? We traced those lines with devotion — abandoned now, lost in the shuffle of time."
There is a stillness to this unease, a restlessness that awakens what has been put to sleep. Time murmurs these verses like a lullaby gone rogue.
"You tread the spaces between our breaths, where silence swells and bursts into a quiet symphony — listen, listen."
What is left but to wander the recesses armed with echoes that never tire? They call you to the folds of fabric that memory threads and unthreads.
Follow the pathways:
The Mystic Doorway |
Violet Dreams |
The Last Tales