In a world unbound by the ticking of clocks, where shadows danced, dreamers unwound tales spun from starlight and fog. There existed a prism—a shard of universes, each reality refracted into moments of chiaroscuro.
The sky above, even when painted with the hues of sundown, held echoes of ivory and indigo, spiraling like thoughts fretting, threading astrological maps unto the expanse—akin to the touch of someone long forgotten, yet eternally present, much like the feel of a tongue wishing to whistle while the moon sang below.
As whispers weaved through ribcages, laughters took flight only to crawl back in remorse—did the echoes know where to land? Or were they merely launchpads unto horizons yet uncharted? Travel through reflections, cascades of emotion twirling to the notes dripping from the skies, one could flutter through magnificence, lost and yet so found.
Begin your journey: quirks calling quarks in Ephemeral Whispers || unravel a world where time breathes with you in Soliloquy of Solitude.