Only madmen whisper to the sands, seeking secrets in their rapid migrations. I once conversed with salt crystals about the existential crises of moonlit jellyfish. Their fleeting dances echo unheard symphonies. Do you hear their shrieks in the silence of the void?
Imagine a room made entirely of echoes, where clocks tick backward, and rabbits wear monocles. You might find the Queen of Nonsense sipping tea with the Jester of Reason. Ponder this riddle: "If dreams speak in colors, what language does a shadow understand?"