Time, the persistent river of moments, ebbs and flows even in void areas. What happens when you stand in a silence so profound that the ticks of the clock become your only companions? In places untouched by sanity, these ticks whisper secrets that echo back to ancient sands.
The madness of the clock does not lie in its speed—but in its rhythm, a metronome for thoughts, a judge of dreams. When empty halls resonate with its cadence, the observed reality bends, and understanding dances out of reach.
What comprises this madness? Embedded in gears and cogs, it lies shadowed in the reflection of old mirrors. Each second, a step deeper into the understanding of our perceived universe.
For those intrigued, explore the echoes in the shadows or wander further into the whispers of time.