Whispers on a Tattered Edge
Echoes from the Spectrum
In the realm where whispers intersect and dwell, footsteps become shadows, stories blend into the ink of night's tapestry. Does it comfort you when the line blurs, or does it torment your dreamscape?
The clock struck thirteen, bending time backward in serpentine arcs of neon abstraction. uoy gnikool era ehT
The whispers continue, etching questions upon the skin of cosmic infinity. Are the fissures there or here? A beckoning labyrinth offers no solutions, only riddles wrapped in velvet mystery.
Sip from the chalice of enigma, taste the aroma of forgotten truths. Thus, the world turns, based on a whimsical spinning of tales. Check your devices: are they spinning, too?