Whispers collect like the dropping dew of forgotten dawns, upon the cold surface of reason's dawn. There, beyond, lies the endless echo reflecting homes not our own, resonances untouched by time's yielded grip.
The guardian stands not at gates foreseen, but instead in interstitial spaces — the breaths between words etched on your soul. mystic slumber, they call to you, inviting you into the worlds beyond twilight's veil where shadows dance in flickering flames.
Mists curl around the edges of senses dulled and question unasked. And there, in the murmured secrets, the key awaits. Will you walk through the twilight whisper and discover realms beholden to none or venture quietly into the walled gardens of safer knowledge?