Beneath the ticking tapestry, a multitude of sine waves dance, weaving whispers in hues unseen. Clocks do not tick here—they hum, with voices that echo in rhythm with the void.
Steps echo through the hall of mirrors, refracting thoughts into nebulae of self, where a clockwork heart dreams, and begins to forget its master.
Journey deeper, seeker of truth, where every shadow tells a story, and every light a secret, cradled tenderly by the labyrinth's embrace.
Whispers of Synthesis