"Time marched forward, yet backward it whispered," she intoned, echoes fading in the cold air. A truth hidden in the folds of memory.
"From the mist, a voice carried on the wind spoke of dreams never pursued, of paths diverging and converging in a dance of shadows."
"Have you ever wondered what lies beneath the surface of your own reflections?" the voice asked, an invitation to explore deeper realms.
"In another lifetime, perhaps," he replied quietly, as if afraid the answer might manifest itself in the rustling autumn leaves around them.
Explore FurtherConjecture in Silence