In the undulating realm where shadows coil, knowledge hisses beneath the surface of silence. The serpent, keeper of forgotten truths, whispers in tongues of mist.
Like the labyrinth designed to entrap desire, these whispers weave through corridors of understanding.
Does the wisdom breed from riddles, or do the riddles owe their genesis to wisdom? As a question swallows its answer, we find ourselves in cyclical contemplation.
Tread lightly, dear explorer, for the serpentine path diverges where certitude converges—there lies the harmony of dissonance, singing though each note an enigma.