Shadows play with forgotten sunlight, dancing in the spaces between things. Time stretches like silly putty, revealing secrets only in hindsight. Sometimes, movement is felt before it arrives, pulling at unseen strings like a marionette master entranced by melody.
The clock ticks backwards in the crimson hour, adrenaline rushing while calm cloaks the soul. Voices from a past never lived linger in the peripheral, tethered to the sounds of a broken radio whispering tales of another version of today.