In the stillness of the heart's whisper, in the pauses between breaths, a riddle emerged. Not loud, not clear, but a murmur on the edges of understanding.
It spoke of circles, of endless paths looping back upon themselves. An echo of thoughts, repeating, gently, like the rise and fall of a distant ocean.
"What begins at the end and ends at the beginning?" the riddle asked, its voice like the rustle of leaves in an autumn breeze. It was a question without urgency, existing outside the bounds of time.
As the circle spun, the answer felt near, yet just out of reach, like a memory of a dream half-remembered at dawn. Around and around, the truth danced, cloaked in shadows and light.
Journey deeper into the murmurs, where every heartbeat holds a secret.
Or perhaps witness the cycle in another form, another time.