Turn the wheels of yesterdays, spin them into the shadows of tomorrows. In these corridors, I find solace.
Whispering winds carry my secrets...
Within the stone tablets of forgotten minds, reason wanes, and the insane flourish untamed. Here lies the cosmos wrapped in electric silence, speaking through echoes.
The echoes of lunacy carve inscriptions deeper than ice upon the mountain's heart.
Do we write or are we written?
A distant rumble of thoughts—like archaic runes upon the skin of the earth. Beware, for knowledge is the masquerade of whispers.