72 parts Complete At the hour when night exhales and moonlight clings to the world like lace, there exists a veil the sun will never see.
It is not a place, not exactly. More a sliver between - between shadow and shimmer, stillness and stir, the seen and the hidden.
The veil breathes with the scent of silver and longing. Here, time softens its edges, and beauty wears silence like a crown.
Things dwell beneath the moon's veil that have no need for names. Their presence is felt more than seen - in the sudden hush of the trees, in the way a breeze curves like a hand, in eyes that glimmer from the underbrush.
And when a soul gentle enough wanders near, the veil does not lift - it leans.
"Some lights do not shine to be followed. They shimmer to be noticed only by those who've known the dark."