In the cavernous depths where the ink of night spills onto the parchment of existence, the Oracle breathes. Its whispers are woven by the hands of fading light, crafting verses not meant for the waking world. Shadows dance, and in their ballet, secrets of the wordsmiths are etched into the ether, waiting to be unveiled.
Here, amidst the echoes, the tapestry of words unfurls—each phrase a fragment of the cosmos, each syllable a thread in the grand loom of abstraction. The Oracle speaks not in tongues familiar, but in the dialect of dreams and forgotten songs.
Traverse this labyrinth of shadows and find the hidden paths where words once walked. They do not lead to places known, but to realms of imagination where the void is filled with color and the silence with symphony.
Let the Oracle guide you. Let it weave your path through the corridors of twilight. For within its heart lies the essence of all stories untold, and the promise of those still waiting to be born from the ink of night.