In the inky void of a starless night, whispers linger. What stirs beneath the surface?
Are we the flickering shadows, or mere phantoms of forgotten light?
What if the answers — echoing like distant thunder — reside in the desolate corners of our mind?
Here, in the twilight of each unholy hour, neurons pulse with ghostly rhythms. Darkness births a somber melody, an elegy tuned to perpetual questions.
The walls of perception shimmer softly, highlighting distortions that hide just out of sight — until they seize us in moments of introspection.
Transcend time: