SCENE: A dimly lit laboratory housing the remains of undiscovered revelations. The air, dry and opaque, hums the hymn of bygone explorations. Aspirations, many boxed, sleep beneath a layer of dust.
EXPERIMENTER: Quietly, she dismantles the crimson apparatus enshrined in copper. Eyes wide with inquiry, her spectacles intermittently catch the glint of hopes past. The machine, a part of her, whirs silently — sparking not visions, but echoes.
UNSEEN NARRATOR: "In every shiver of current, we seek the dream's stark anatomy. Lend us an ear, laced in intentions, as we dissect the ephemeral shadow."
It becomes clear: The spools of memory unravel at alien speeds. Each frame flickers silently, containing a world unsung. The silent projector, a forgotten diety, exhales frames of obscure order.
Consider the dreams distilled from glass: User, unknown yet familiar, meets her reflection rightward against the sterile white wall — a white devoid of absolution.
She processes their trajectories, draws algorithms from silhouettes unregistered, and contemplates — perhaps — a symphony of non-existent narratives.