The night sang a voice that none could follow, guiding steps that shimmered like dreams. Beneath, the echoes devoured untold verses, swallowed whole by a silence deafening in its orchestration.
God's pocket watch ticked backward, each pause a note played on an unseen harp, strings dulled by the passage of time. Moonlit dreams melted into dawn's curdled fantasies, but in between lay the tapestry of songs unsung.
The wind whispered secrets meant for only the trees, while the rivers carried tales of bygone splendor. Yet, amidst the gales and the currents, silence reigned sovereign, a throne of stillness amidst chaos.
Echoes of the Unseen