In every strand that unravels, one sees the dim phantom of a mystery dimension.
Nobody spoke of the strings—thin, invisible, yet they wove the tapestry of unseen realms. Beyond a door never opened, they lay coiled in the fabric of time and space.
Conversations scattered like autumn leaves, some obliviously mundane, others profound, entered through unseen portals. It begged the question: Were they echoes of thoughts long abandoned?
Reflect and assemble: pieces lie fragmented across dimensions. Shadows linger where the light of understanding has yet dared to tread. These are the quiet strings, murmuring in the silence.