Faint tonality of formless thought dances slowly across shattered horizons.
The clock's hands quiver, entrapped in archaic revelation—a timeworn roulette of the present moment, skipping over/loading patches of future eventually consumed by nebulous past.
Participants gather, personas etched out proudly, though masked with intentions cryptic and vague against the velvet night air.
Like fractured film frames painted across continentes somberenant, the symposium buzzes livid with stormlight lightning frozen amid imagined frequencies.
The cast speaks of: