Once, in the fleeting autumn of 1892, when the air was thick with the scent of impending winter, a phonograph recorded a giggle. Yet, this was not an ordinary laugh. It contended with time itself, ricocheting into the future. By 2023, a child named Otis would discover it beneath the cobblestones of Old Town Market, forever altering the course of his Tuesday afternoons.
The child, while cradling a humble tin of sweets, heard the haunting melody of a laughter that smelled faintly of peppermint and echoing yo-yo tricks. Otis did not know the source, nor did he care. The sound became his companion, roaming step for step through the town square, skipping with him past the crumbling statues of forgotten politicians.
During the summer of 1965, an unintentional time traveler named Elena stumbled into a carnival hidden behind the facade of everyday reality. Balloons tangled with the underbelly of clouds, and cotton candy wrapped her fingers in a sugary haze. The carnival, she learned, existed on a plane where laughter operated as currency, and her willingness to giggle ensured her passage through the phantom tent with spinning galaxies painted inside its canvas dome.
Elena's laughter wove itself into the thread of the human condition, imperceptibly altering future linguistics studies. Scholars would later argue whether her synthesis of joy and incredulity could hint at forgotten dialects or simply entertained flies.
Journey into the darker echo