The clock ticked, though it had no hands, in a room where shadows whispered secrets of past and future, entwined like lovers under a veil of mist. Do you hear them? The echoes of forgotten footsteps on the dust-covered floors of memory.
Here, in this twilight realm, where light hesitates to tread, the whispers gather, coalescing into words, fragments of dreams long abandoned. Listen closer...
Once, twice, thrice... time dances in circles, pirouetting to a rhythm only known to the shadows. They weave tales of an ancient clocktower, its face cracked and forgotten, standing vigil over a river that flows upstream, reversing the cycle of day and night.
Do you dare to follow, dear traveler? The path is obscured, marked only by the imprints of those who walked before you. Step lightly, for the ground is woven from threads of silken whispers, delicate and fleeting.