In the echo of the sun's fall, there lies a rhythm unseen, where twilight embraces stars with a tender whisper.
First, take the path less walked and count to seven whispers, then turn east where the sun has forgotten its glow. Beyond the shadow of trees that speak in ancient tongues, you must find the circle without an edge. Remember, the stars do not guide, but mislead delightfully. Should you see a river of glass, pause and hum the song of silent seas.
"They said to keep the brass key safe in pockets of clouds."
The sun dipped low, the horizon danced. A forgotten dream or melody, slipping like sand between fingers. What if the moon sang in hues of emerald? Would the night bow in rusty allegiance?
We wander, not lost, but deliberately astray. Each step, a dance; each pause, a contemplation of the abyss filled with forgotten verses.