Once upon a twilight, the clocks whispered in an ancient tongue, as shadows fell over invisible circle soles. The congregation, an assembly of mismatched echoes, gathered to coax luminescence from these effigies of warmth.
"She had said it in a fragmented language, pieces lost between the past truth and forward mirage. Her name was not asked, yet it lingered like an echo of forgotten hymns."
This was no ordinary pyre; the flames danced symbols only glimpsed in fragmented history books. He stood, an architect of ritual, unsure if he was leading or being led, as the embers sequenced cryptic melodies only eclipsed moons would understand.
Beneath the ashen twilight stars, an entangled laugh broke the somber strings of ritual. Was it Margo, or simply a reflection spun by flickering flames? The fire has treachery, with glowing secrets in its grasp.
Gathered or scattered, the pathways veered into unreal domains. Here, a forgotten song played—a derailed symphony of purpose. The night stretched beyond possible beginnings and endings, as the embers twinkled like obedient, forsaken deities.