Once the clock chimes, the veil between histories thins - refracted steps upon cobblestones of yore.
The resonance of forgotten waters spills forth, mirror lakes reflecting the unspoken.
Shall you trace the lines of constellations unknown, weaving them into myths anew?
A tapestry of sound, the orchestra of the cosmos plays - notes of stardust, chords of the deep.
In the echoes, do you hear your name whispered, a phantom in the crypts of time?
Circles within circles, an eternal waltz, dance with shadows cast long by the past.
Outside the gates of what was, lies the garden of what may yet be - tend the flowers of thought.