Lucas Branwell
In the realm of the subconscious, darkness unfolded like a heavy velvet curtain, each folds a deep well of blackness.
It took me a moment to grasp the nature of this surreal experience — I was neither here nor there, suspended in the limbo of a dream.
The shadows were not just absence; they were an entity, a living presence that whispered secrets to the deepest corners of my mind. As I stood in this dream within a dream, the darkness became tactile, wrapping around me like a silken shroud.
In this ephemeral state, awareness unfurled like the petals of a midnight flower. I could feel the pulse of my own consciousness, a rhythmic drumbeat in the vast silence. As if summoned by my thoughts, fragments of memories floated before me — snippets of conversations, fleeting image
