Wrapped in the amethyst clasp of an ancient Autumntide, where seasons conversed with archaic sighs, I found her. A whisper draped in silky umbra, she was, twinkled among constellation winds. Among the aisle cloud of star-lit paths, our anecdote hummed to life, clandestine serenades veiled by epochs unknown.
Roses tangled with night's courage, petals spilling like Julia's ink scribed not into paper, but stars themselves. Creatures of enigmas followed our footsteps, unseen yet palpably felt, distant yet comfortably at hand. Do we rest upon azure-gilded sand, yearning a horizon untouched by morning light, or did yearning court doppelgängers in errant dreams?
Garden of Vitstars