In an asylum of the mind, where thoughts grow like weeds in a digital garden, does the murmuring silence seek your hand? Embrace it, for the tapestry of the nonexistent weaves such intricate patterns that insanity sings a meandering melody.
"What is life if not a dance with phantoms on the edge of reason's cliff?"
- An Inscriber of the Nocturnal Pathways
The lantern's light flickers; shadows stretch and contract in a silent symphony. The mad philosopher yammers in verses untamed:
Explore the corridors of thought: Murmur of the Dreamers | The Quiet Reflector