Stars Above, Shadows Below

In the penumbra play the children, where light dare not linger. Their laughter echoes in the dimness, woven with whispers of ages past.

"Will the shadows dance too?" a voice questions, small but infinite. "They will," the wind reassures, brushing against spectral forms.

Among fleeting moments, stars flicker dimly, their glow a lie crafted by night. "Time is an illusion," whispers the spectre, though the truth weighs heavily on tiny shoulders.

Remember the tales, once told beside flickering hearth, where caution masqueraded as curiosity.