Beneath the fabric of the incessant tick, lies a world woven in silence, where the remnants of time break into a symphony only a whisper can understand. Like leaves on the breath of autumn, they float — gently, endlessly, through the corridors of a clock that dreams of the skies.
The rhythm of the unseen pendulum swings not for the now, but for the essence of eternal moments that seem to peer back from hollow eyes of brass. Dare to listen further, and trace your steps through labyrinthine echoes.
Giggles of clocks strung high across celestial plains, weave tales of forgotten whisperings — elusive and enigmatic, as if lingering between breaths.
The sun took a break, one fateful afternoon, aligning with the moon's secret rendezvous. Shadows danced in clockwork precision, marking moments in invisible ink. Twilight’s voice called forth, singing songs of rich shadows.