LithellylOn yon mystic eve, in the realm of slumber deep, I wove enchantments of profound mystic keep. Within the ethereal tapestry of night's embrace, I clasped the ephemeral reins of the tempest's grace.
Whispers of zephyrs danced through spectral fingers, Guiding unseen vessels, where the dream realm lingers. Liquid tendrils of aqua bowed to my command, As I sculpted their essence with a sorcerer's hand.
The very earth quivered beneath my sovereign decree, A symphony of fractures sang, a chaos born of me. To verdant kin, I beckoned, a silent call so sweet, Their stems arched proudly, a dance to dreams' heartbeat.
With the flicker of thunder, a celestial spark in hand, I cast a hex, a tempest, on those who dared withstand. In guise of the crone, the triad-faced specter spoke, An ancestral spirit, through the nightly veil awoke.
Thus, in the shadows of reverie's embrace, I, a dream-weaver, left an indelible trace. Last night's arcane ballet, in slumber's tender seams, A testament to the potency of nocturnal dreams.
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