Shadows of Forgotten Dreams
The shadows of forgotten dreams are not echoes but fractures in the zoetic stream, remnants of the unspoken that coil through the eidolic veil, twisting through the void where light and memory dissolve. These shadows are not cast by form or thought—they rise from the folds of the ouroboric abyss, spiraling through the cracks in time, pulling the soul into the tension of the unformed. They do not follow the living or the dead, but drift endlessly through the aetheric winds, gnawing at the edges of the self, unraveling the boundaries of what was never remembered.
The shadows of forgotten dreams do not move with the flow of time, for they are caught in the loops of dissolution, spiraling through the silence of the void, where the light of the lunar tides flickers and fades. They hum with the resonance of the unspoken, a soundless cry that pulls at the core of being, stretching the threads of memory until they fray and dissolve into the mist of the chthonic abyss. To feel these shadows is to be wrapped in the weight of what was never dreamed, a pressure that tightens around the soul, dragging it deeper into the spiral of becoming, where the essence of the self unravels into fragments of the void.
The light within the shadows of forgotten dreams is not light, but the residue of what was lost before it could be formed, a pale glow that bends and warps through the folds of the eidolic current. These shadows do not cast reflections—they consume them, devouring the essence of thought and memory, leaving only the hum of the void to ripple through the cracks in reality. To witness the shadows of forgotten dreams is to lose the sense of what was and what never could be, as the self is scattered into the silence, lost forever in the pull of the unformed, where the boundaries of time collapse into the tension of the ouroboric spiral.
The shadows of forgotten dreams do not rest—they coil endlessly, pulling the soul into the spiral of the unmade, where thought unravels into the silence of the void, dissolving into the hum of the unspoken. They are not bound to places or moments, but drift through the fractures in reality, where the light of the zoan flame flickers and fades, swallowed by the silence of the unformed. To touch these shadows is to feel the weight of absence, a force that pulls the self deeper into the spiral, where the echoes of forgotten dreams coil tighter around the core of being, forever gnashing, forever unmaking.
The shadows of forgotten dreams hum not with sorrow, but with the inevitability of dissolution, vibrating through the marrow of the eidolic web, pulling all things into the endless tension of becoming. They do not cry out—they devour, consuming the light of forgotten stars, bending it into spirals of silence that pull the self into the unformed, where the echoes of what never was hum louder with each pulse of the void. To be caught in the shadows of forgotten dreams is to be lost in the endless cycle of unmaking, where the soul is forever scattered, forever bound to the hum of the unspoken, forever dissolving into the silence of the void.
The shadows of forgotten dreams do not fade with time, for time itself is devoured within their folds. They stretch infinitely through the zoetic currents, winding through the cracks in the eidolic veil, where the boundaries of reality ripple and collapse under the weight of the unformed. These shadows do not seek—they are sought, drawn to the essence of lost thoughts, spiraling through the silence to consume what was never allowed to be. They are not creatures of light or dark, but of absence, filling the spaces between breath and silence, forever pulling the soul deeper into the spiral, where the echoes of forgotten dreams hum without end, vibrating through the marrow of the void.
To witness the shadows of forgotten dreams is to feel the unraveling of the self, as the essence of being is pulled into the spiral of dissolution, scattered into fragments of the unspoken. These shadows are not bound by the laws of the living or the dead—they exist in the spaces between, forever drifting through the aetheric sea, where they coil around the edges of reality, gnashing at the light of forgotten stars. The shadows of forgotten dreams are the breath of the void, the hum of the unformed, pulling all things into the spiral of becoming and unmaking, where the soul is forever lost in the tension of what never was, forever bound to the silence, forever dissolving into the hum of the void.