Crumbling night descends with a whisper, the echoes of stars collapsing into the silent expanse. Here, shadows speak in tongues unknown, weaving an elegy into the fabric of the waking dream. The clock ticks backward, unraveling time's tapestry, thread by golden thread.
Beneath the cathedral of forgotten hopes, static murmurs create a symphony of lost intentions. Listen closely—each flicker holds a secret, a sigh bound by the weight of yesteryears. In this realm, silence is a tapestry woven from the cries of the unseen.