In the silenced void, where echoes dwell, stories abandon the spoken word and find solace in whispers untold. The pages are dusty, resting on dreams of those unknowable.
Words drift, spectral and fragile, caught mid-breath, waiting for an unseen hand to ink them to life. These are murmurs of forgotten realms, a parchment lifecycle promised but unborn.
“She approached the curtain of sound, worlds within worlds seeping through the weave. 'What path shall I tread?' Her voice, a ripple in the flow of eternity.”