In the corners of existence, where echoes gather and weave tales, lies the Whispering Engine.
It hums softly, a murmur in the fabric of time and thought.
Crafted by unseen hands, its gears are forged from dreams and whispers.
The engine's heart beats in rhythms unknown, a dance of shadows and light:
To understand its whispers, one must listen not with ears, but with the soul.
Scribbled in the margins of forgotten tomes, a truth unravels:
"An engine of whispers knows no bounds, for it runs on the silent prayers of starlit skies."
Links to the unseen: