Whispering silhouettes adorned with forgotten tales, echoing through the porous membranes of dreams. The clock's hands tremble in the presence of such melancholic elegance, suspended between realities.
"Look, look," they said, pointing to an expanse bathed in the silver light of memories unsaid. Eyes closed, they spoke in riddles that disassembled nights into misty fragments.
On the horizon, the unnamable waited—a shadow lurking just beyond touching distance. Reflections ripple through the canvas of the unseen, drawing whispers from the dying embers of yesterday.
Follow the Nebulous Path