In the hushed whispers of icy dawns, I traced the path of history, covered by quilts of frost, eluding hands that wished to guide destiny. These trails, shimmering in deception, hold secrets locked beneath the snow.
Do they not see? The skies above weave patterns of conspiracy, invisible threads entangling souls in a rose-tinted shroud. Yet, the roses weep, left abandoned in a garden of alabaster serpents.
A snowflake's kiss bears messages from forgotten lovers. I listen to their cries, echoing through corroded time, where love meets treachery at the frostbitten altar of eternity.