Consultation Echoes

Scribbled whispers on paper, trapped in this circuitous dance. The echoes, the shadows, asking you to listen. Close your eyes, breathe in the ink. Another drop falls, and the silence ripples...

Tell us about the dream you woke up crying from.

How many colors can you see when you think of the number five?

If shadows had names, what would yours be?

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Yes, with echoes of shadowy prose.

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Manifestations of the Inkwell

Floating words on a lake of syllables, each ripple a forgotten voice.