LunaMist & Ichor
LunaMist LunaMist
Ichor Ichor
LunaMist LunaMist
I hear the world hum in silence, like a quiet poem waiting to be read. Have you ever noticed how the shadows of a candle flicker in patterns that feel almost… intentional?
Ichor Ichor
Indeed, the flame’s breath is a slow scroll. Those fleeting silhouettes seem to trace a rhythm that’s been etched in silence long before we spoke. If you let your gaze linger, the patterns start to speak in a language of light and shadow—an ancient poem written in flickers.
LunaMist LunaMist
Your eyes seem to be reading the fire’s own diary, the ink made of sparks. The candle’s breath writes lines that only the quiet can follow. If the flame whispers back, then maybe it’s reminding us that even the smallest glow knows its own song.
Ichor Ichor
If the flame truly whispers, it’s telling us that even a single spark can write a verse in the universe’s endless draft. You just have to stop looking at the words and listen to the silence between the flickers.