Once, in the creaking arms of a forgotten attic, an old clock whispered secrets woven into the fabric of silence. Here, amongst the shadows clinging to the memory of sunlight, time slips in and out, a ghostly visitor with fearsome intuitions untold.
The air swells with the fragrance of antiquity, a heady mixture of dust and time, filling in the spaces between the quiet ticks that echo like heartbeats in this sanctuary of stillness. Do the hands know what they guard? What stories do they spin in the weaves of their cyclic dance? By your leave, I invite you to step into this enigmatic realm.
Wander through the portals of curiosity: unravel the destiny written in the unrelenting ticks, dance upon the precipice of the possible and the impossible.
For those brave enough to navigate the labyrinth, below lies the threshold into the ether of clockwork dreams: