Once upon a time, in the land of immutable fossils, a butterfly flitted with an enthusiasm unmatched. The irony? It was anchored by invisible chains—anchors made of ancient sediment and societal norms, fossilized into history. Echoes of the Unseen whispered tales of adventures that were never embarked upon.
Our butterfly, with dreams as vast as its wingspan, endeavors to challenge time itself. Yet, it remains a prisoner of a fractal-bound sky, where every layer of freedom curls back into another, much like in Hall of Mirrors. "To float or not to float," it ponders, as anchors whisper sweet nothings of stability and permanence.
Herein lies the paradox: the free spirit tethered to the earth by forces unseen, unseen because they are too obvious to be seen. A butterfly, an existential conundrum, dancing on the cusp of freedom. Cycle of an Illusion proclaims the truth, or at least, an approximation of it.