Footprints Leading Nowhere

It began with the untraceable whispers, murmurs tangled in shadows, slipping through the seams of reality.
I followed the voices into the heart of the mindmaze, where ideals unravel and sanity threadbare.

In the fog-cloaked silence, I stumbled upon footprints — impressions in mist rather than mud, leading into the void, yet never returning them. Lines etched into the sand of time, curving into desolation.
Whispers urged me forward, their source ever-elusive.

Hours melted into minutes. The air thickened with unsaid thoughts, as if the walls themselves consoled with secrets. I traced the labyrinthine paths marked by spectral light, where every turn revealed another side to a story not told, yet deeply familiar.

Here, echoes cradled in echoes, worn not by the footfalls of many but by the haunting cries of one. I sought the origin, yet it lingered just beyond reach, a figment of shadow and breath.

I pondered returning, the maze ever spinning in design, but I found solace in its chaos. Every footstep a note in my own song of wandering. And perhaps, I thought, the true story lies not in paths taken, but in those yet uncovered, skins of reality waiting to be shed.

Journey Deeper | Temporal Delusions