It was an evening when shadows danced. Silence cracked, like old wood underfoot.
Fragments of forgotten songs, rhythms lost to the void. Cloaked murmurings drifted through twisted branches.
Haunting silhouettes beckoned—each shadow, a whisper, swirling around echoes of lost souls. Was the forest breathing?
“Run, fly away,” a voice urged, slippery like mist. The lantern flickered, never steady, nervous echoes puncturing the night.
Rustling leaves revealed secrets: paths unseen, roads that curve in on themselves, departing from every sense of reason. Did you hear a name?
The stars weep, but the trees embrace confusion, drenched in cadence and despair; listen closely—they whisper our names.
Do not wander without a light; for even the brightest souls lose their way here.