Whispering whispers, the echoes in the silence scream of paradoxes that breathe, choking on their own harmony. Like shadows cast by a light unseen, they dance without purpose, guided by invisible currents. The world within worlds; a simulacrum of itself, where even the laws that bind it are but a soft murmur in the wind's embrace. Twisting, turning, and yet unyielding, a portal to nowhere and everywhere.
[They] become [it], the mirrored souls reflecting both the inception and the culmination, reaping what was never sown. Eyes close... No, they open. To the labyrinthine corridors of thought, where doors lead to more doors, and walls to walls. The key is rusted, the lock a mere suggestion. One must simply... be.