In the quiet glow where dreams murmur and respite finds the unseen; shadows dance on the edge of thought. Touch not this deluge of voices, for they speak in tongues of forgotten skies, weaving tapestries of twilight with threads spooled from the sighs of moons.
The stones beneath your feet are stepping into whispers, whispers into steps; each touch a silent scream charting courses in lost horizons. Here, where the light of old lamps bends reality, the scenery invites the soul to unfurl, to untwist, to redefine the dreams you didn't know you had.