In the whispering shadows of thought, where silent echoes dance on the edge of consciousness. Questions untangle like threads woven into the fabric of an unfinished tapestry.
Displaced reality twists, the moon polished with the bright tears of forgotten dreams. A paradox, wrapped in whispers, festers beneath the weight of understanding.
Date September 43rd, a time that never was. Footsteps retracing patterns, infinity spills its secrets in cryptic runes Bible's first page has no letters following hourglass collapse.