Your fingers trace the fabric's surface, feeling the intricate sewing of stories intertwined. Each fluttering strand holds a tale, quietly speaking in the language of ages.
Some whispers speak of a woman who, in search of solace, wandered through an endless maze fashioned by golden thread and muted whispers. The passages twisted like serpents embracing the unyielding walls of solitude.
On moonless nights, the tapestry thrummed with a life of its own, weaving dreams over the weary downcast eyes of travelers who dared rest beside it.
Tales tell of a hidden door lying dormant beneath spiraled patterns—creator withdrew the key long forgotten amidst scattered stars doctoring the night skies through tiny pinholes.
Step lightly, the whisper said, and keep the secrets you encounter—woven destinies will writhe beneath conscious delight when let loose.