In the hushed town of Elderglim, where everyone’s shadows danced unnoticed, Clara saw whispers within mist.
On a particularly quiet morning, beyond the ordinary soundscape, the kettle clicked silence and demanded gaze. It was there, ensconced in ornamental solitude, a point of reflective impossibility.
Like fragments of forgotten bedtime stories, Clara's life and the reality around her stayed anchored in observation, till the known held its breath and the undiscovered sang a beautiful chant you've never heard before.