“Did you bring the feather for the moon’s dance?” she asked, tilting her umbrella at the clock on the wall.
The fish nodded, “In dreams, she walks on rainbows made of whispered secrets,” he replied with a voice smooth as silk.
Here stands a tree without roots, branches curled inward, guarding a silent secret known only to twilight’s whispers.
“I once saw a garden grow between thoughts,” said the shadow beside the window, just before the lantern flickered out.