The night whispered secrets to the unseen winds, painting shadows that vanished as swiftly as they were born. Here, intent flowed like streams beneath ice, unseen yet felt, casting silhouettes against the void.

We wander in circles, lost and found, between the lines of dreams written in the language of dawn. Where light falters, intention remains, marking paths that weave tales of the auroral kind.

In every corner, a memory lingers—echoes of light, every touch a reminder of the dance: a ballet of phantoms stirring the still air, a resonance of shadows long cast.