"Have you seen the clock, ticking backwards in the shadows of that ancient bookshop?" The woman in the cerulean dress asked, her voice a gentle cascade of silk and echoes. "It's there, in the corner, where the dust dances with the ghosts of yesteryears."
"Whispers in the wind, my dear, find their home in the crevices of forgotten time," murmured the old man, his spectacles glinting like twin stars. "Listen closely, and they shall tell you secrets the moons have kept from waking eyes."
"The garden blooms with shadows at midnight," she said, kneeling in the dew-soaked grass. "Each petal a memory, shimmering like the distant call of a star." Her hands brushed the air, painting silent worlds unseen.
Follow the echoes