Behind the curtains of the void, the signals whisper in tongues unfamiliar. An orchestra of dissonance, playing a requiem for the galaxies unheard. These corridors, woven from stardust and shadows, dwell in the margins of existence.
Reverberations linger—fractured melodies that dance in the cosmic twilight. Monoliths of entropy speak in riddles, as time bends within their grasp. Theories grow like ivy, clinging to crumbling thoughts of harmonic alignment.
Terminal A: Patiently awaiting an answer... Nobody listens. Yet here, the corridors hum their eternal dirge.
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