In the heart of invisible forests, where whispers weave tales in lost dialects, a tapestry formed from moments unfurl. Shadows dance, not in fear, but in harmony with the moon's forgotten song.
Do you remember the silence that spoke? It carved rivers of color through the valleys of your dreams, each hue resonant, a note in the symphony of serene chaos.
As the mirror clouds drift, a reflection of the unreal becomes tangible in its absence. The air thickens, not with weight, but with expectation.
Touch a star and hear it sing; the melody is just noise without the context of time.