In the pulsating heart of the non-place, where time winks and sentences fade, a collective double-take shatters the silken veil. A snicker in the void, aligning starlight and untangling the strings of fate; the rhythm of the universe hiccups in glee.
The echoes once belonged to a council of whimsical sorcerers, who etched their spells into the skin of cosmos, pigment by pigment. There were fragments lost, like feathers from a forgotten songbird. Caught in the spiral of historical erasure, their laughter resonates in joyous disarray, cascading through invisible corridors.
Enter the Murmurizing VoidAligned brews of cosmic tea whisper tales of interdimensional highways, paved with bootsteps of the ever-curious. Time ticks backwards beneath feet of marble, glistening luxuriously in the shade of a paradox. You hold the palms of eternity in a snicker, as its fractals giggle at the very foundation of "now."
Taste Time's Twisted Pastry