Floating in the void, a silent echo of a thought not fully formed, yet it claws at my being — do I lash out, or do I drift further?
The ground beneath my feet is nothing but a mirage, a cruel illusion of stability. I reach out but grasp only shadows and memories blurred by time's relentless tide.
Listen closely, they said, and you will hear the whispers of forgotten dreams, but all I hear are the clamorings of doubts and fears, louder with every breath.
The ugliest truth lies not in the world, but within, gnawing at the edges of awareness. Can I escape it by drifting, or does it follow relentlessly, a shadow that knows no light?
Follow the whisper