Hocus pocus, the words linger in the air, an incantation of bygone eras. What is the essence of a spell, if not the invisibility of its effect? In the shadows of time, we weave our destinies with threads unseen.
Imagine a world where every decision forks into oblivion, each choice a whisper lost to the abyss. Existential echoes reverberate in the corridors of your mind. What becomes of the paths not taken?
Look closely, and you may perceive the invisible hand, guiding, shaping, reshaping. Yet is it a hand at all, or merely a figment, a spectral guardian of the labyrinthine chaos? Let the hocus turn to focus.