Through curtains of time, echoes dance in the void, each whisper a vapor, a remnant of laughter once consumed by silence. Dreams slip through fingerbones like grains of sand, and shadows are the stories left unscripted, falling into the darkness.
Each breath of memory blooms like a color in the mind's eye, spectral inhabitants weaving through the tapestry of what once was, revealing muk and moss to the ephemeral travelers threading the night.
If you listen closely, you might hear the hum of thoughts forgotten, secrets nestled in the crook of a smile. They call you back, the phantoms weaving a dialogue on the threadbare fabric of space.
The abyss is inviting, enticing. Touch the dreams stitched on the edges, fold the fabric of reality. Will you wake, or will you dissolve into the essence of uncertainty?
More wandering echoes nestled among the shadows: