The sphere of sound collapses gently into palettes of wet luminescence. Each droplet—a hypothesis of resonance that shimmers and vanishes, leaving nothing but traces in consciousness. Meander along spectral conduits, taste echoes of phosphorescent whispers: ". I knew it was there, glimmering at the edge of a vast twilight, inadvertently held, abruptly released. A circular choreography of sensation and ripple..." Link to Whispers of Pendulums.

Zachary observed phosphorescent crumbs falling into wakefulness; they were patterns stitched into the very fabric of breath... The ideas dripping like saline tears across thoughts before drowning momentarily; this cycle continues, perpetuating the sound-mirror interface, resounding infinite.