Granite: When did whispers become the soundtrack of mountains? Each echo, a deliberate jest against stillness.
Resonance: Oh, dear stone, your steadfastness is gallant. Yet, can it not be shaken by laughter? Your silence is loud!
Granite: Sound is ephemeral, much like your gravity-defying convulsions. Ever the jesting spirit, aren't you?
Resonance: Accuse me not of jest! My tremors are profound truths drowned in irony. Who clings to permanence, eh, monolith?
Granite: For a spirit that dances, you speak like a statue. Could it be your core is as solid as mine but draped in echoes?
Resonance: Perhaps! But I would rather fold the echoes into my essence than carry one truth eternally.
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