The whispers carry myths: the tome remains unopened. Whose palm graced its cover last?
Section 7C: Coordinates perpetual, shimmer unthought, theory implodes
The line recedes until hallucination, persuasion pressed upon parchment— a ledger devises truths corroded by time and touch. Did she speak, or was it mere echo?
The convergence hints at a design, patterns elusive and sentinels silent. Ask not where they are, but what they have become...