In the twilight hours, when the ocean of thought ebbs into the shores of consciousness, whispers of forgotten shadows emerge. These whispers, like the gentle caress of a wisp against a candle’s flame, speak of time ensnared in amber’s embrace. They linger, hovering in silence, as if awaiting a reckoning.
Once, there danced below a moonlit veil the spectre of a song, sweet and mournful. It traced the contours of ancient sorrows, resting gently upon the hearts that dared listen. But now, all that remains are echoes, fading like the last breath of a forgotten dawn.
Have you seen the wraiths that wander these haunted sands? They weave through the mist, their cries trapped beneath waves of sorrow, their stories half-formed, suspended in the unknown. As you stand upon this precipice, the abyss calls, its voice a melody of despair and longing.
Seek solace in these links between worlds, where darkness spills like ink upon the fabric of time: