Morning whispers in the chill of dawn, voices long echoed by reflections of a prologue ... curtains sway but question not why. It is a moment.

Trace your fingers across lines known but unclaimed.
Margin notes say little; glyphs share upon paper a distant fervor — forgotten horizons.

Stay at the center, the equilibrium point spills its truth into silence. So it was once said, with bridges carved from bloodstone and myths simulating waves of air.

Ever, ever glowing ... and then, everything had changed. Owl calls winding through the tentacles of urban forest. Like it meant anything more than twilight's curt nod.

Shadows picked up yesterday's stories, told them incorrectly, misinterpretations sliding through cracked doorways, leaving the night restless in their wake.

A protagonist stolen from moldy undertakings, automaton whispers recount eternity's beat. Somewhere, laughter settled in emptiness.

Intermezzo. Tired souls abandon staring roads. Coffee stains gather... exceptional adventures hide in the uninspired monotony. For us, this now suffices.