In the hush of twilight, shadows brew, flickering on the edges of forgotten echoes; ghosts of what was once animated, lurking past edges like stitching that never held.
The moon whispers a thousand tales; part reverie, part reality—or perhaps neither, suspended in a mirror’s gaze recollected. With acceptance issues untangling, each nuance guards its own unkept secret.
Dwell within the memories; learn the path they carve into the skin of time. Understand that time forges memory's blade with each moonlit hour. When gazing upon the infinite, do not gaze not too long or risk weaving despair within fragile threads of enchantment.
Follow the whispers of faded recollections
Return to the source of all shadows