Through faint tears in the fabric, light disperses like water drops dripping off of an old and dingy little tap. No figures beyond one can be spotted in the haze, the sand and the little torch he's holding over there...
In the realms between, in the lands below, in the skies that extend, in the winds that blow, I, mere thought, within the
Welcome aboard, kind one. Not many come here; even fewer linger. Care to look through a few books on the arts?
