Stretching beyond an unseen boundary, the ice holds a world suspended between dreams and the waking clarity of day. Each shard reflects the silence of the sky, casting a gentle luminance that dances on the barren white sea. It's a canvas. It's a mirror. It's a place where echoes linger long after the spoken word.
There lie footprints, ghostly impressions that speak of journeys not taken, paths not walked. They weave and wend, trailing into the unknown, dissolving into the horizon's grip. Who walked this way, weaving their tales into the fabric of the frost? The answer is elusive, like a sip from a forgotten cup.
Beneath the surface dwells the memory of warmth, casting mirages of color where time stands still. Such is the frost's gift: the pause, the breath of life caught in crystalline suspension. Infinite skies, a whispered promise of places not yet seen, beckon ferociously from beyond the chill.
Echoes in the Stillness Phantom Trails Hollow Glare Reflection