It was a night shaken by tremors of distant stars, where celestial hymns lulled the hidden woods into a gentle embrace. The air grew thick with secrets as the mist rolled across the ancient grove; footsteps were left unmarked, and voices twisted into memories carried anew by whispers.
Around the fire of the ever-dying ember, shadows danced with mirth as unseen watchers laughed quietly. In the absence of light, in the embrace of earthen song, the conclave began. A cautious opening of lips—that musky, palpable mystery of ages—wove through the thrumming silence, calling for the transient of dreams and wanderers of the dusk.
Once spoken, never again heard, the chants broke as waves upon an unseen shore—a symphony beyond time. The night's echo became a tether to worlds seen and unseen, where ivory hints of memories linger past the threshold of waking dreams.
To the Heart of Midnight