Have you heard the nocturnal whisper, worldly traveler? Listen once, listen twice; perhaps thrice, even, as the secrets weave and weave, entangle and pull at the fringes of your woken mind. It says, you must return, must you not? The cycle completes where it began.
Why do the haunts murmur so? Night is their domain; trust they roam with reason, with rhyme. And oh, how they beckon with a cautious hand behind their back! This tale, this beckon echoes through your dreams. What do they say, what truth lies among such artful threads of shadows? To seek rest is a surrender, is it not?
Once the path is known, how can the feet not tread? The whisper comes again, speaks through the gaps. It tells you tales of return, of secret paths woven tight around the night's veil. Trust once, trust again, for the way is never secret for the one who comes twelve times past the ninth hour.
The truth comes not cloaked in brightness. The truth is your knowing companion, that ghostly murmur, simple and persisting. Unravel, descend - isn't there simplicity in descent? The whisper tells us of solace unseen during daylight. Can the heart not stir, does it not look inward, and persist, over and over?
Will you return to the ***nocturnal echo.html*** whenever it calls out? Will you not heed?