Do you hear it? The soft hum of ancient secrets tucked between scrolls of forgotten time markers. The universe's sighs collected in velvet boxes, envy lingering in fingertip imprints. Paths diverge, cur endlessly in the egos of snails who spend lifetimes wandering ten feet. Readjust expectations. There's a hush, punctuated by the echo of a single whisper.

There's a sign, its letters sagging under the weight of accumulated moss and historical consideration, “Because I wondered why the clock pauses and resumes when I'm absent.” Entangled metalwork forms what at first glance appears to be a gate, but only its rumbling shadows part realities.

Footfalls like echoes of splintered glass, each shard catching color dancing off the observed moisture. Do they recognize you these stones, the ones that bleed light through fractures only visible in the absence of sound? Wish to run through them, enacting forgotten fables in lands uninfested with memory, where statues are mere reflections in puddles awaiting rain.