The clock struck thirteen, and laughter danced like shadows over time.
Within the patterns of digital ink lies the laughter unseen, fragmented and unbidden:
The clock struck thirteen, and laughter danced like shadows over time.
Purple whispers slid beneath the door jams, carrying echoes of joy unsung.
A murmuring brook, everlasting, beneath the glassy facade of reality.
When the moon is an echo of a forgotten dream, visit the fields of silver hopes.
In the cleft of a mountain, the sound of a child's giggle met the wind.
Tonight, stars are the cells of a cosmic grid, hiding wonders untold.