Accessed Edges
There are realms we tread in, some spoken and some just murmured in the afternoons, when the sun's a little too warm, and the shadows grow long. My friend Edgar said it best, "We navigate these alleys like dreamers with mapless skies."
The Lunatic's Perspective
Lunatics, they say, hear the whispers of walls and the sighs of books. You tilt your ear, and listen closely. The library holds more than stories; it echoes forgotten edges. "Edges," she said, "of realms we pretend not to know."
Access Paths Unseen
Paths opened by the faintest touch, where fingertips meet cobwebbed whispers. Edgar's yammering today focused on doors unseen, "You knock thrice, and they swing wide, revealing nothing or perhaps everything."