Hark! The faint cascade of static—a symphony obscured, a harmony hidden behind veils of random whispers. Within the tumult of shadows and unwritten fables, secrets echo, resonating in colors unseen, in patterns of forgotten dreams.
As mist kisses the horizon, so does the glow beneath that yawning dawn. It speaks in frequencies that tickle the edges of reality, in narratives spun not by hands, but by the gripping tendrils of the night.
Flowing words, hidden in the cadence of electric whispers: "The curious door sleeps beyond the tenebrous garden."
And the walls around speak not, lest their stories inscribed with moonlit ink be awakened.