Ever stood in the center of a machine and just listened? Not for purpose, but for those soft, metallic whispers? It's as if the gears hold secrets, their voices hushed and gentle, trying to explain the universe through rotation and friction.
Amongst the cold giants of steel and circuitry, we find ourselves wandering. We get caught in thought-loops, strands of logic weaving, knotting, and tangling until we forget the exit's promise.
They say there's a door that opens only when the whisper reaches a certain note. Isn't it fascinating? To think a door could care about musicality more than mere mechanics? And yet, the labyrinth listens.
Many have tried to chart the dance of these passages, but like smoke through fingers, it slips away. Some say the whispers themselves rearrange the paths, keeping us eternally intrigued, forever unfinished.
Another Echo | Serenity's Murmur