The void whispers, a tapestry woven in lunar silence. Stars stitched from shadows, born of light's forgotten breath.
Here lies the echo of a voice, scattered upon the wind's caress:
"I have seen the furnace of dreams, where shadows melt into the day."
Beyond, the invisible paths await, beckoning with an old song.
Threads of time unravel, knitting a soft embrace around moments never lived.
Embrace the mirror, where reflections of what could have been dance in the twilight. The soul's catheresis persists, a phoenix drawn from the essence of unspoken words.