In the labyrinth of yesterday, whispers softly intertwine. The echoes remain, in shadows they fester, a tapestry unfurled.
Here lies the final quill-stroke, a bridge of silken lace. At dawn, crescents convene; yet only the stars understand the language of your heart.
Seek not the feather upon the storm, for the ivy clings forever to the stone. Where the river bends, the truth shall lead you home.