Upon entering the corridor of intrigue, whispers follow every erratic ellipse. Her journey begins

Do not trust the murmurs they said, yet the gears kept turning, left to their own devices in the clockwork garden.

To understand its rhythm is to lose oneself. An unending search.

A singularity formed upon her reflection, beckoning her with seamless cries of the ether.

These jagged edges don the narrative like an unsung hymn, © tangled in blind yearning...

Second guess the patterns of light and shadow:

Plunge deeper into fabric. Awake untoward

Shelter beneath the cadence, fix the fragment within form.