She whispered it was vital:
"Stand upon the cold rust, align your thoughts."
Two shadows spoke just beyond clarity:
"The clock ticks without hands, my friend."
An irony wrapped in the fog of understanding.
- Remember the paradox of motion.
- Quiet your voice; let the mirrors speak.
- Calculate the distance between dreams and reality.
- Wait for the moment that never arrives.
- Write your thoughts in the language of forgotten stars.
The terminal question whispered through the ether:
"Will the conclave remember our names?"