A melody estranged from its origin, yet forever humming beneath the surface—an echo of an echo.
In the corridors of oscillating time, where the tangible meets the intangible, and the known dances with the unknowable.
Listen, and you may hear it—a phantom, cycling through spectra unseen, weaving silk from teardrops and astral dust.
Whispers of the fourth dimension, brushing against the strings of reality, count their steps in silent applause.
The stars remember everything, they say.
Beneath the skin of twilight’s fabric, quantum threads knit softly sentient labyrinths. Forgotten symphonies and ancient sighs linger here, drifting like the ghosts of time’s own shadow.