In the twilight of yesterdays, the words of silenced souls drift softly upon the shivering air. With each syllable, woven tapestry of longing unspools across the vastness of the ether, revealing secrets entwined in the gnarled roots of time itself. It is here, amid this luminescent haze, that one might grasp the breath of a universe ceaseless in its reverie.
"Within the silence," she uttered, her voice a delicate brush against the canvas of oblivion, "lies the realm where the heart remembers... yet the mind forgets."
Does one not inquire about the mirrored lakes of the star-studded void? The reflections therein are said to be the souls of departed dreams, hastily eclipsed by the waking world. And the ferryman waits, eternally impatient, along the banks of those eternal gyres, hands clasped about the oar of fate.