Amid the whispers of forgotten realms, the prism waits, refracting moments into kaleidoscopes of thought. Shadows dance along the edges, where light sings broken lullabies to the silent void. It is here, within the bend of translucent dreams, a mosaic of scattered whispers forms a tapestry woven from silence.
Refraction, a quiet upheaval, a shiver beneath the skin of reality. What is mirage and what is truth, a question asked only by the wandering light. Echoes of old tales slip between the crystal surfaces, their voices melting into hues of gold and cobalt. In every bend, a memory finds a new home.
The silence speaks not with words, but with the gentle caress of refracted beams. Touch the spectrum, and feel the stories lie hidden beneath layers of longing spectralities. The air hums, a resonance of untold fables, waiting in the crevices of time.
A whispering edge speaks in volumes, not written, but felt within the heart of glass. Beyond the tangible lies a world unseen, within the prism's embrace.
Light, the absent traveler, bending tales of distances untold, of cascade of colors echoing the silence with every wave of passage.
The veil of aura represents the unseen threads, weaving a canopy of forgotten light. Each strand, a whisper, tracing the invisible dance.