A tapestry of murmurings; voices almost lost to time, yet woven into the very fabric of our dreams.
There is a realm, just beyond, where echoes linger in the perpetual twilight,
and each echo tells a tale
of what was and
what lies hidden beneath the surface of wakefulness.
Each note suspended in time, vibrating in unison with the silent cadence of memory.
Do we hear them—these digital phantoms?
Or do we merely feel their presence in the timid brush against our senses, like a whisper echoing endlessly in the dark?