In whispers caught between the void and the world's edge, the echoes of an age unseen speak through the wind's breath. Coiled around your thoughts, the essence of forgotten chants lingers, a spectral symphony that never truly fades.
Fingers trace patterns on the skin of the invisible, a map to nowhere and everywhere, where the ancient voices hum in a language of shadows. The earth trembles in syncopation with the heart, drumming the rhythms of a time that knows no time.
Do you hear the voices beneath the surface, where the roots of trees intertwine with the dreams of soil? They sing of harmony, a union of elements, of symbiotic whispers in the silence of moonlit glades. The ritual is not bound to the past, but woven into the fibers of the present, alive and breathing.
Further into the Whisper