As the moon bled silver upon her Saffron robes, *she sighed.* An utopia crafted in the laborious nights of silent musings, only decipherable to minds wandering love's labyrinth.1
"Swallowed by the shadows, his yearning was a vine, creeping through the cracks of eternity", penned Aziik Nour in *Time's Tender Fall*.2
Within the bounds of the unseen library, there was said to be a room whispering secrets of "Eyes that spoke poetry", where words of Orion's gaze were enigmas unfolding in celestial patience by Indigo Mare.3