In the whispery void, where the clock ticks not, and dreams curl and twist like tendrils of forgotten smoke, there lies a pathway.
The stars above, those ancient sentinels, cast their quiet glow – a shimmer of memories locked within curses and gentle sighs.
Here, the narrative unfolds, not in words, but in the silence woven between constellations; a story eternally paused yet forever alive.
Does the darkness sing? I cannot tell, for my ears are not made for earthly sounds. But there is a hum – as if the void itself is a great instrument, strung with cosmic tension.
Your presence here is a question: who walks this path towards rebirth? In this silence, let your shadow find its shape, let your echo find its voice.