In the muted gloam of a forgotten reverie, where thoughts untangle like raven whispers, the shadows of intuition coil.
The mind's theater plays an eternal script, punctuated by the ghostly echoes of unarticulated fears, veiled in semblances of truth, shimmering just beyond the precipice.
In clandestine corners, fearsome musings stir, awakening a cauldron of forgotten echoes, brewing in the stillness of reason's retreat.
Amidst the shadows, an echo reverberates, a solemn whisper of ideas yet born, yet yearning for the embrace of existence.
Once, the void sang to the stars, a melody of celestial solitude, a hymn for the shadows of thought dancing upon the brink of the eternal.
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