In the cryptic regions where light is mere laughter, the shadows speak in tones of silk and steel. Pages untold await not to be read, but to be felt. Will you let their presence, cast by invisible dawn, persuade you where laid-out truths have failed?
Consider, if you will, the silhouette of an argument unfurling against the bright void. Each point, defined not by conviction but by the gentle caress of absence. Would you, too, allow these forms to mold your understanding? To convince you in their quiet dance?
The missing pages are no less real than the sun's retreating glimmer. They exist. They draw us near with their whispered promises of enlightenment. So, dear seeker, what truth shall you glean when the light falters and the shadows sing?