In the dusky alleys of night, where mere footfalls conjure reveries, there lay a paradox. Numbers drift listlessly between the lines of an unread book, gliding with the grace of forgotten melodies on an autumn breeze. They whisper softly, weaving tales of quantifiable whims.^1
Shadows dance across deserted tables, inviting onlookers to partake in a feast of distorted voltages and tangled representations. Each measure, a new arcane sigil, carved with precision and lost to the winds of logical negligence.
^1 As narrated in "Dancing with Shadows", a 19th-century treatise by Cornelia Rowe, the travelogue of a mathematician lost to the night.
Time fractures into little prisms that refract into irrational dimensions, leeches of abstraction feasting upon the tangible. A conspiracy of algorithms encrypts sorrow in their merciless syntax, curving veins within a lattice of intrigue.