Unseen collisions, those that shift the very fabric without a sound.
There linger whispers at the seams, where dimensions thin like fragile veils.
Here, reality bends, not with the crash of titans, but with the sigh of shadows. In the unseen clash, a ripple runs through the breath of worlds.
Many have seen the flicker, a second where all was not-this, before settling back to what-it-was. But who reads a story in ripples?
In the library of every world, there are margins unmarked, where notes on unseen mechanics whisper in ink invisible.
Scientists ponder the shadows, but what does light care for shadows unless it dims?
If you desire to peer deeper, try to grasp what may lie beyond echoes left unheard.
Or find solace in the whispers of time as it unwinds.