Time drips like molten silver, pooling around the edges of a reality long abandoned. Echoes of forgotten futures echo within the hallways of dreams. Past the veil of the known, the unknown whispers secrets in languages woven from starlight and shadow.
A clock spins counterclockwise, its hands bent like the memories of a world soon to be. Here, at the brink of the end, the beginning lies dormant, waiting to awaken in the soft glow of lost dreams.
Footsteps echo down corridors made of night, carving paths through the silence. The air shimmers with possibilities, each breath a reminder of the worlds yet unmade.