Whispers of the Dream Phantoms

In a garden not touched by the sun, blossoms of forgotten yesteryears weave a tapestry of silence. Their vibrant hues whisper tales of long-lost reveries.

Initially, there were echoes that danced upon the surface of the inscrutable lake, ripples that carried secrets from the mouths of sleeping tides.

Golden threads of mist entwined with a velvet sky, embroidering nightfall into a canvas of chaotic serenity. A dream within a dream.

The air was thick with the perfume of reminiscence, a melody unsung by the stars, lingering in corridors of spectral light.