Through the looking-glass maze, where shadows converse with light,
a single note trembles in the forgotten air. It whispers of ancient dreams,
entwined in tapestries woven with threads of silence and void.
Inverted and reflected, the whisper flows from the fissures of consciousness,
a prayer to the restless stars that never were. To see, to know, or to feel the unseen
currents that stitch time into the fabric of nevermore.
Follow the echo to where the horizon meets dusk:
The Enigmatic Portal
or linger in the labyrinth of thoughts:
Distorted Arcana