The architect of dreams lies dormant, beneath layers of cosmic dust. In breaths between heartbeats, fabric is woven into patterns, yet untouched by time.
“Can you hear the echoes?” whispered the sand.
Stars blink in cryptic codes, a language older than the sun. Schematics of light and shadow dance, mapping the invisible threads connecting our souls.
“Follow the patterns,” murmured the moon.
A resonance of forgotten melodies echoes through this framed reality. Each heart, a metronome, beats in synchrony with destinies yet unfolded.
“Time is but a frame,” sighed the wind.