In the whispering shadows of the moon's ascent, words unspool like threads from the loom of night. They form glyphs, arcane symbols etched in the fabric of dreams, speaking in tongues older than time.
Streams of consciousness collide, magnificently untamed by the constraints of the real. Images flicker like candle flames, casting shadows that dance to the rhythm of an ancient, forgotten song.
What shape does a thought take when it drifts unanchored through the ether? A circle, a line, perhaps a spiral—each a glyph, each a world unto itself. Journey further: Echoes and Whispers.