In the dream of a silver river, where floating whispers kiss the fragile stars, there lies a maze of echoes unheard. Pivoting not, they only move in circles, eternally undone.
Waves of light, trapped in the throb of illusion, pulse ahead, yet drown behind the velvet curtain. Am I standing on the shores of reality, or adrift in a kaleidoscope?
Look close, and you may find: The Oracle's Whisper speaks of things unnamed. A reflection bends them, and they are none but shadows.