Once, a time existed where the dawn was painted with the colors of what could be. Each whisper amongst the wind carried a spark, igniting unseen possibilities.
But echoes linger still, not of laughter or triumph, but the quiet rustle of pages turned slow. Here lies the resignation, a collection of aspirations dissolving into the ether.
"We navigated through rooms of shadow, seeking whispers of light, only to find that light was the shadows waking in a new hue."
Forgotten Paths