With each whispering thought, I feel the shadows gather, the edges of this plain weave mystical trails through my mind.
A journey unfinished, yet marked by echoes of delusion and glimmers of shadowy light.
These words, a mere reflection, fluttering like leaves in the autumn dusk.
Have you ever seen the malachite morn, thy voice whispers?
Or felt the embrace of eternal dreamshroud, where the lost souls congregate?
Such iteration, and yet, it feels new — not just a replay of the cosmos' fading symphony.
Their murmurs intertwine with my own, an enigma wrapped in the haze of spectral light.
Embrace the echoes unheard, the syllables of forgotten silence.