Window to Twilight

At the cusp of twilight, veiled in whispers and the scent of oranges, lies the window to elsewhere. With each fleeting moment, the light dreams. Gaze upon it, and you shall see not what is, but what might be—an ocean turned to amethyst crystal, reflections of joyous shadows dancing beneath a pendulum moon.

Fragmented echoes of forlorn tales drift through the violet air, seeking solace on the wings of dusk. In this woven luminescence, stories take shape—ancient travelers from realms beyond the starry veil, narratives unwritten, secrets whispered in the silent, waiting ether.