Under a cerulean twilight they gathered, the lost whispers of forgotten dreams. Each syllable a solemn hymn, echoing the lament of yesteryear. In the folds of the night, shadows serenade the moon with tales etched in obsidian ink. Silent and lingering, like the vows of phantoms, dissolving into mist.
The clock ticked backwards, marking steps taken in reverse through passages of time unseen. In the library of the abyss, pages fluttered, their ink unraveling stories of hearts sealed within ancient tomes. A candlelit glow flickered, casting shadows on forgotten altars.
Threads woven from the silk of night, spinning tales in the margins of hollow pages. Each thread a life unwound; each stitch a memory sewn into the fabric of nightmares. Doodles etched by a trembling hand, tracing arcs of sorrow and joy amidst the constellation of darkened skies.
In this realm, echoes cascade like a gentle deluge, cleansing the remnants of time. Silent are the cries, melded into the tapestry of shadow, leaving trails of starless dreams.