Once, in a quantum pocket of infinity, where rays of dusk dance wildly with the particles of dawn, the astronomers found a void of whispered secrets. Children wandered lightly across this fabric, pondering the weave, and wondering what tiny whispers built it. Eloise, the dream-catcher, saw these tiny webs twine— was it gravity, or tales woven poorly in shadow play?
Follow the nebulous echoes left untold, children, for they vanish as you age. Graduate to reality's halls with memory's gallery tucked away firmly in your pocket.
Little light refracts in the crimson loops, promising more shades in quantum's playful time. Reality curved back on reflection, soon resembling the old nursery rhyme forgetfully penned. Dreams never end; they transcend, circling around theories built on fragile hopes.