Somewhere beyond the fabric of moments, in the delicate dance of cogs and wheels, lies a < fractal nature to existence. The echoes of time cascade through these winding paths like a stream refusing to conform, yet binding itself to every pebble it meets.
Imagine a clockwork heart beating not with blood, but with tiny grains of sand, each whispering memories of bygone days. In the shadows of its core, writes a story never told, a saga woven into the intricacies of its metal veins.
As you bend closer, you hear the tale of:
Such echoes carry you forward, through the elusive corridors of a machine's dreaming mind.