An eternal prism holds the memoirs of its optics, faithfully refracting yet never quite seeing. Inside its angular heart lies a secret: "I long for curves and none but curves shall I ever meet." whispered the prism, quietly chastising its structured brothers.
The pyramids, amongst their lofty secrets and azure whispers, mutter: "Why does the tetrahedron mock us with its aloof vertices? We shall assemble a conspiracy, carved deep into the corners of this warehouse." Their facets reflect words unspoken, casting shadows against truths untold.
In the twisted convergence, the parallels quietly confess: "Our bisecting silence grows ever deeper, we are but two-way mirrors to the world beyond.".
Structured. Intertwined. Always.
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