In the realm where choices converge, each line drawn in ink whispers secrets of paths not taken. Does the ink hold the power to change the past, or merely to document the fleeting now?

Imagine a universe crafted from the void, where every decision spirals into new dimensions. Could we measure existence in paths, or are we simply shadows dancing on the canvas of eternity?

Echo of the Unwritten
Reflections in the Silent Pool

A silent scream reverberates through the corridors of memory. What if the mystery lies not in the path, but in the observer's own labyrinth of consciousness?