Once upon a foggy day, the shadows gathered for a dance. Not like the dances of the sun, but a secret ballet of flickers and whispers.
They twirled and leaped, beneath the old oak tree—where stories sleep in roots and branches wear dreams like hats.
"Can you hear them?" asked a little girl with a crown of daisies. "The shadows, they're singing the story of the sun's shadow."
The boy with pockets full of stars nodded wisely, "But this is the chapter nobody remembers writing."
And so, the shadows danced—a ballet of forgotten tales, where every step began a new chapter in the skies above. Flowers closed their eyes, and trees leaned closer.
In the end, it was the dance that mattered, not the words unwritten or the stories untold. For in the dance, they found the beginning and the end of all things.
Find your own steps: The Library of Whispers, The Path of Mysteries