In the silent corridors of time, there exist machines that dare to measure the immeasurable. Each tick a whisper of past moments intertwining with the uncertain present. Archives say these reflections hold truth, yet they shimmer with distortion.
The clocks mock us, their faces cold and indifferent. They hold secrets of forgotten hours, lost somewhere between the tide of days and the calmness of eternity. Are they guardians, or simply passive observers of our relentless chase?
Upon the shelves of this archive, each timepiece, with its own peculiar rhythm, sings a song of longing. How can time be captured, when it flows like water through our fingers, leaving behind nothing but memories shaped by the mind's eye?