In the stillness of the midnight hour, beneath the brittle skin of reality, whispers converge.
These frequencies, entangled in a gothic waltz, forever dance the absurd symphony of the lost.
Hear them:
"Did you remember the clockwork shadows? They devour the light within your shoes..."
Somewhere, beneath layers of unspoken dreams, a crimson seed rests in the soil of oblivion.
Tend it, and it blooms—a sunflower filled with clock faces and whispered lies.
Perhaps, it asks:
"Why do the chairs sing lullabies to the rafters when no one is home?"
Step through the threshold where reason folds into itself, and find your reflection in the kaleidoscope of forgotten yesterdays: Dissonance | The Abyss