Within the cogs of a nocturnal atlas, where seconds blend with shadows, a clock speaks. Whispering in metallic tongues, it converges dreams and gears into a symphony of paradoxes — time contorts and recoils, mocking destiny's linear pretense. Did you hear the winding echo of yesterday grazing tomorrow?
The infusion of light within tick-tock moments, a clash as sweet as forgotten lullabies, where the epochs breathlessly chase their fading reflections, ever-out-of-reach. Somewhere amidst the tangle of circuits and longing pulses, your question becomes an artefact of déjà vu.
Do they dance for joy or sorrow, these phantoms of mechanical emergence? A waltz upon the brink of discovery — or perhaps an oblivion only dreamed of beneath the metallic canopy. The paradox weaves closer, like a lover’s embrace — neither future nor past but eternally now.
Somewhere in the distance, a horizon waits, puzzlingly adjacent to its own footprints. Tomorrow shimmers naïve in expectation, while past has locked itself in a restless ballet, both spiralling into the gentle murmur of the singularity.
Enter the Whisper Nexus