She heard a whisper beneath the stars, "The crimson tide ebbs not from the dark," he said, eyes like mirrors reflecting nothingness.
The clock had no hands, yet time slumbered within the embrace of the silent void. "Count the dreams," he whispered, "they echo louder beyond the known."
"A path unwritten is a letter unsent,"
Words, scattered like fallen petals, hid messages only the keenest heart could read. Underneath each syllable lay an adventure never traveled, a map to the unreal.
often, she pondered, "What lies waiting beyond the horizon, through the rabbit's whispering ground?"
Lunar tides carried their secrets, shimmering with the veil of encrypted stars. "We are the soldiers of silence," he noted, "and our kingdom is of void."