Within the veil of misty slumber, she calls—her voice a rippling echo across the darkened skies.
Pale moonbeams dance around her figure, a silhouette cloaked in eternity's forgotten grace.
"Come," she whispers, "to the lands where dreams untangle, where reality is but a memory unwritten."
Shadows stretch their fingers toward her, yearning, reaching, always just beyond touch.
In the stillness, she weaves lullabies from fragments of the night, melodies wrought in sorrow and beauty.
Each note a droplet of time lost, a thread in the fabric of the cosmos, unraveling, weaving anew.
The wraith's serenade lulls the weary wanderers, guiding them through echoing canyons of yore.
Her voice, a haunting lullaby, drifts on the breeze—a promise, a warning, a welcome to the infinite.