The year 2124, a conversation halted:

"What do you mean, it never happened?"

Silence met with clockwork precision.

Factions of time ponder realities.

Circa 1865, in the echo of a whisper:

The smell of ink and mystery, beyond the pages.

The world ticked slowly.

A lost diary stitched through dimensions.

Flashforward to unknown, where dust settles on:

Theory or practice, one answered the other.

Were these truths or illusions?

Reflected in shimmering voids.