Imagine a world where hieroglyphs had careers and occupations—a bureaucracy of Muses and Beasts. The ancient scribes weep silently as their work hours are clocked by the hourglass.
A glyph misinterpreted once declared a war over line spacing. The phonetic irony echoes endlessly within the chambers of forgotten diaries.
Do whispers of the night still peep through cracked parchments, or have they succumbed to digital oblivion?