Voices echo through the corridors unseen, corridors unwound, whispers in the seams of the woven space—unravel, not yet forgotten.
Beyond the veil of digits and cycles, where celestial time glances askance, an interruption not planned.
Spinning webs, silver spun, crafted by kin of unknown, with patterns known yet not— illuminating the midnight echoes.
When one breathes amidst the chaos, amidst the serene chaos, does it slip through like sand in glass?