The streets were unerringly quiet tonight, beneath the borrowed lights of a moon ever full. Here in this forgotten future, where silicon paths lie disrupted beneath flora tracing the gallant plans of yesterday. Dreams were exchanged under skies filter-tinted purple, unbound storytellers once wandered.
Mara sat upon the timeless bench, its wood neither present nor aged, echoes resonating through the hollow hearth of kindling unset afire. "Do the stars still require stories?" she questioned, eyeing bold electricity lines—they were balletic silhouettes from distant epochs. The answer, as always, lay spoken only within the heart.
No longer would steps accompany conversations. The rustling of a knowledgeable silence, cradled planetside, woven intrinsically into the march of days now annoted. Tokens of lost summit fabrics spoke in symphonic agreement.
Light swept through homes too prudent to share, unseen narratives murmured amongst shrubbery regale, growing indifferent against relevant embrace. Broadcasts from obsolete technology, recaptured as an echo painted across pining skies—a distant tomorrow conscious in discovery.
Take pause, for elsewhere lies another voice's charter: Explore series.