Whispering echoes within the cone, descend into the void where silence collides with memory. Each sound a prophecy, a ripple through the fabric of existence, scrawled by unseen hands. Listen closely as the vibrations seek solace—not in the air—but in the recesses of your mind. A gentle pulse of past conversations, forgotten dreams, layered upon themselves like pages in a tattered book.
Imagine the cone as a vessel, carrying your unspoken words across the chasm of time. Are they cries of joy or murmurs of regret? Either way, the cone listens, cradling your essence within its geometric embrace. When you gaze into its depths, you do not see an end, but a reflection of all that was and could be.