The precipice yawns, an abyss of whispers and fading echoes. There once was a time when dreams were tangible, held like the memory of summer rain on parched earth. We stand, you and I, on the brink—a dance across the stones of uncertainty.

The sea below rages, but its voice is hushed, a mere murmur against the pounding of heartbeats. Listen, closer now... closer. Do you hear the singsong of forgotten lullabies or the lament of ages past? It all bleeds together here.

< The fracture lines beneath paint stories in the soil, a tapestry spun across a chasm of time and void. Shadows cling tighter, tighter still, until the sun breaks, splintering reality into shards of memory.