"In the caverns of thought, echoes are the shadows of perceptions yet to be."
A voice as light as smoke, curling through the twilight of conscious dreams. It **speaks** in murmurs, questioning the borders we conceive—do those borders truly exist, or are they mere phases of silence woven through sound?
An orb, a sphere, encompassing infinite reflections yet holds nothing. What is it you try to grasp, within yourself beyond yourself? Each whisper from the spectral veil beckons you to see, not with your eyes but your essence.
"Reality is an illusion created by the collective dream of existence."
And as the last echo fades into that ethereal whisper, you are left, alone yet part of a greater unseen tapestry.