The clock ticks within whispers no longer heard. Time's mirror fragments dissolve, each shard a fading future, each future slips unseen into a labyrinth of glass and moonlight. Beyond now, you wander, where shadows cradle starlit lullabies.
Listen, can you hear the echoes of tomorrow? It shudders silently beneath the weight of vanished hopes: "The past is a story that won't end," murmurs the voice of time, caught between the heartbeat of worlds.
Follow the wistful echoes along dreaming corridors, where specters of what could have been reach with longing, retelling a narrative carved into the ether.
Once, in realms untold, futures danced a fleeting ballet. Would you listen to the murmur, or weave through rhythms that pulse in ghostly light?