Once, in the small town of Eldermere, there existed a peculiar frequency that hung in the air like an unsung melody. Those who dared to tune in often found themselves drawn into tales that wove in and out of reality, leaving behind an echoing sense of wonder and mild unease.
Can you hear their gentle choir? Some say they sing secrets of the past.
The frequency was an invisible thread connecting Eldermere's most eccentric moments. A summons for lost socks to reunite their partners, a midnight chess game held by unseen players, and once, a symphony formed by the congregation of waltzing fireflies.
Court was in session, though no gavel was struck. Only the rustling of spectral papers signaled the verdict.
But not all stories were serenades of joy. A clock tower, perpetually stuck at thirteen, chimed at odd hours, its notes reverberating through the streets and occasionally, just occasionally, an echo would respond with laughter — or perhaps a sob.
These frequencies, these archives of sound and silence, whisper to those willing to listen. The tales linger in the shadows, nudging the curious towards paths untaken and stories unspoken.