In the shadow of the whispering shade, where the light fears to touch, a lone echo wanders. Here, time is a forgotten witness, and the clock is merely a collection of abandoned shadows.
"Do the stars belong to us, or do we belong to the stars?" a voice murmurs through the cobwebs of reality.
Gemini winds spoke of ancient seas, capturing dreams in their untamed grasp. Every ripple fell into an abyss, searching for answers in forgotten languages. And from those voids, reflections emerged—pale specters of what once was.
In whispered tones, the universe confessed its secrets: "We are but echoes, reverberating through the corridors of eternity."
Clouds draped the sky like a disillusioned shroud, each bearing witness to a sun that never rises. Such are the mornings in this world, where night and day blend into a singular sigh.