In the realm of whispered yesterdays, the circle rests, bound neither by time nor truth, yet enveloping both. Mirrors reflect not what we seek, but what we fear to become.
Delve deeper into the ever-turning labyrinth, where ancient shadows weave with luminous echoes. To hear is to know, but to silence is to be wise.
Beneficial, indeed, is the poisonous sound that caresses, each hiss a gentle touch upon the destined wakefulness.
The Fable Untold Riddle of the Echo