In the folds of half-light, where whispers coalesce into mist-touched reveries, a hum begins. Listen closely, for it is not your own. It curls like shadows cast from memories—not here, nor over there, just... somewhere between the beats of the world.

"Did you hear the clock chime?" It echoes from a place hidden beneath ordinary streets, yet echoes distinctly in this unmoored reality. Shadows house your questions, but nobody knows the ledger of their answers, teetering, forgotten.

Moonlit dialogues, punctuated by pauses dripping with cosmic dust, offer fragments unclaimed by time. "Does it rain oxygen where you come from?" a voice, curious yet distant, asks. The reply eludes you, existing only in subsonic vibrations felt underfoot.