In a realm unspoken, where words freeze in time, a whisper travels. An echo of an unwritten story, sailing through corridors of the mind, resting on the cusp of a dream.
She walked a path of shadows, under a sky that held the first glimmer of dawn, where the sun kissed the edges of the horizon.
Fragments of conversation float like petals in the wind, tracing circular dances in the air. They linger, only to dissolve in the morning mist.
"What is left unsaid, if not a treasure hidden beneath layers of silence?" she wondered, her voice a mere rustle among the trees.
Like the flickering of a dying star, the thoughts cascade, shards of light across the vast dome of her consciousness.
Underneath the surface, a current flows, whispering secrets only audible to those who dare to listen. The world spins on, indifferent, while she gathers these voices, weaving them into the fabric of her being.