In the land of whispery stones, the spire spins with gentle mist. Round and round, forever up. Can you hear its song?
The angle sits quietly, like a child staring at the rain, drops kissing leaves, pondering tales untold.
Echoes come softly. One step, then two. Walk light, for the corridor tells stories of old dreams. Revel in them.
Follow the candle's glow Farewell, little whisper