When the world twisted and turned, it whispered secrets never meant for mortal ears. In the twilight corners of reality, dimensions snapped like brittle glass, shedding shards of ether.
In the meadow of lost clocks, shadows danced lightly on the surface of bygone echoes. Murmurs of time unfurling, unraveling the very fabric you thought secure.
Beneath a canopy woven with stars, an eternal question hangs: do we imagine the cosmos, or does it imagine us? The paradox breathes, like a silent heartbeat through infinity.
Step lightly, for every snap of dimension echoes through the corridor of ages, resonating with a truth that slips through the fingers like grains of cosmic sand.