Among the folds of time and nether whispers, echoes linger. Perchance a truth, perhaps a myth:
1. A clock ticks backward, unravelling hours into infinity.
2. The scent of violets beneath a crimson sky—foreboding yet serene.
3. A silver thread slips through the fingers of a forgotten seamstress, binding dreams and reality.
4. Shadows breathe, shaping futures from the ash of yesterdays.
Their hushed secrets woven into the fabric of existence, known only to the stars.