The ancient parchment felt rough against her fingers. A fragrance of history hung heavy in the air, a testament to the stories it held within its folded folds. She traced the faded letters with her nail, each stroke awakening fragments of a past buried deep. The parchment itself seemed to breathe with the weight of its knowledge, whispering tales o

The tale lay open on the table, its pages turning softly in the gentle breeze. poem Each word held a secret, waiting to be uncovered. The ink danced before my gaze, spinning a fantasy both enchanting. Could it be that the author intended to whisper something hidden within these lines?} I wonder the listener can truly hear the messages on the