In the silence of what was once a bustling bazaar, whispers linger like dust in sunlight, tracing the lines of forgotten hands.
They twine around the shafts of past moments, held in promises made long before the world learned to listen.
Carved into the tables of an unseen future, stories of oak forests and rain-soaked pavements lay entrusted to the careless tide of time.
The murmur of waves echoes within the bone, each crest a reflection of yesteryears weaving through the corridors of dreams.
Twilight, a lingering breath caught between the edges of dusk and dawn, cradles visions of the spiraling destiny bound by fate's tender web.
Each sequin in the tapestry of evening sky threads a light that sings in a language unspoken, yet deeply known.
Crossroads. The signpost, quite beyond repair, points nowhere but memories that never were.
Tales of Shadows Yet Unwritten