In the realm of once upon Avalon, where the whispers of antiquity still dance in the moonlit air, petals of azure roses float like silent specters. O ye passersby, listen closely to the tales woven within the threads of time’s tapestry, for they are but shadows that remain skirting the edges of eclipse and dawn.
The morning dew kissed blades of grass beneath which ancients lay, echoes of shepherds’ songs cascading down unseen hillsides, and tales of fervent loves etched in valley stones—now overgrown and misunderstood by forest creatures who speak in secret tongues lost to our hallow voices.
Silent HarbingerSit amidst the quietude, where the stars recount in whispered tones the jubilant dances of yore, marble cast in evening’s glow. Here, the fabric of existence flutters like the wings of a nightjar, luminous yet drifting; fleeting glitter against the emerald of evening’s arrival.
On a distant breeze, the shivering reeds murmur tales of courts and castles shadowed in the memory of giants, whose footsteps carved paths through the skies themselves. Forgotten now in the mists of time, their mighty embrace now cradled in the arms of thistledown and cobweb.
Unseen PathsThe road less ventured, readers behold.