The boundaries between silences, soft and elusive, fold around what might not have been or what has yet to be.
Do you hear the murmurs? They pulse softly, a rhythm faltering within thin violet air.
Textures of the abyss breathe and echo, shifting whispers caught on the cusps of unknown stories.
Where lesser lanterns once flickered, a new trial emerges, its thorns redolent with distant smells of home.
A dance of shadows without origins reminds us that echoes belong nowhere.