In every universe, there's a moment trapped at the brink of time, echoing your moments as shadows cross light in misplaced dance. The machine, a vast and cumbersome entity, stood like an altar to forgotten gods, humming below the universe's whispers. As Aria leaned over its console, she felt the flicker of déjà vu—an electric truth prickling her spine.
Some say déjà vu is memory playing tricks, echo from a parallel existence. But Aria knew better. Today, she would untangle real memories from the weave.
“All probes prepared, lead sigil aligned,” murmured an unseen voice, perhaps a remnant of stars long dead, swirling in the labyrinth between realms. She pressed her palm against the shimmering surface, her reflection fracturing, intertwining with images of worlds not yet discovered.
She closed her eyes; a tapestry of vistas unfolded—cities of glass stretching into nebulae, forests breathing under turquoise suns. Every image, a sigh of recognition; every sound, a lost laugh.