In a silence that stretches like the wings of the night sky, a whisper—a thought, a shimmer—, dances?
Not the known, but the unknown, being penned beneath the shade of an oblivion tree. Twilight whispers ancient secrets in the voice of the wind.
The stars, invisible in their celestial places, twinkle as faint echoes of memories once vibrantly lived: The canvas waits.
Embrace the dance of the transient—join the otherworldly soirée of the finite, known only to those who dare roam beyond: Through the veil.