In silence, they interlace. Echoes of footsteps in endless corridors, shadows of moments never seized.
A door opens to a whisper, yet the room remains empty.
Threads woven with intention. Hands unseen weave their webs.
Places untouched.
Night descends, and with it, the dreams unfurl. A landscape of muted colors, filled with stories only half-told.
In the distance, a lighthouse stands—silent and vigilant.
Its light pierces the fog of uncertainty.