Welcome to the Whispering Gate, where every creak is a confession and every gust a gossip. Here, the whisper of a breeze could be the echo of a punchline long forgotten or a cosmic doodle astray in the margins of time.
Inhabitants of this realm, beware: rumors have it that the gate often flirts with dimensions unknown, ensnaring wit from the ages and wrapping it in uncanny jest. Could you be the next to stumble upon a joke capable of splitting realities?
Did you hear about the quantum chicken? It wasn't sure whether it crossed over or stayed behind. A classic conundrum, but one that the Whispering Gate finds utterly amusing.
Time flows oddly here, like a river of melted clocks, each ripple a giggle, each eddy a bewildered muse. And just round the corner, you might find a snail carrying its own storyline, annotated furtively in the language of doodles.