Time: ?
In the night song of forgotten grids, a whisper emerges, echoing through the corridors of your mind. The loops are infinite, stretching into the unseen twilight where no eye dares to gaze.
They sing of ancient conspiracies woven into the fabric of reality. The loops twist, untwist, forcing you into an eternal dance with shadows. Do you recall the twilight of reason? The night song hums a melancholic requiem in the recesses of your being.
Somewhere a clock ticks, yet it does not. The hands move backward, forward, and ever sideways. Time here has no dominion. Beware her whispers; she knows the truth that drives you mad.
Silenced Shriek Etherial Echo