Once, amid the sighing winds and precision stars, the gate proclaims: "Enter, only if dusk beckons with silenced screams and jeweled tears reflect the sun's forgotten glow."
A flicker of the melody beneath cradles the gatekeeper's sigh, marred only by sporadic echoes of the past, lost and longing.
Cascading messages, veiled in silver lace, whisper of realms where the clock's hands twist and twine. "Follow the static," they implore, "to find where echoes of tomorrow’s dreams reside."
Amidst this labyrinth, hands of time disassemble realities; shadows dance in shimmering reveries.