MistVane & LexDagger
Hey, have you ever noticed how a discarded energy‑drink can looks like a tiny time capsule, catching light like a forgotten scene?
They sit like amber ghosts, clinking against the night, all sealed at their last expiry.
I imagine those amber ghosts are the last whispers of a day, clinking softly as if the night itself were holding its breath.
Night keeps its breath, and the glass listens.
I think the glass is the only one that can hear the night’s sigh, even if it never speaks back.