In the marrow of twilight, where echoes exhale their silent symphony, the shadows congregate, wearing veils spun from the sighs of the moon. Here, every star is a memory, every breeze a forgotten tune.
The luminous phantoms dance to a rhythm lost in time, their spectral forms a mere brush upon the soul, leaving traces of glow long after they part. The heart beats to their cadence, a tap of time unwound.
Listen, oh traveler of the astral plane, to the murmurs that call from the edge of the waking world. They are the songs of the stars, the whispers of wanderers, the dreams of light untold.