In the grand theatre of shadows, paths unseen unfold with a synthetic grace. The irony, dear reader, lies not in the visibility of these paths but in our perpetual state of unpreparedness.
You may ask, "Where do these paths lead?" The answer is here, among the shadows, where the maps are merely reflections of what never was. Here, every step taken is an echo of footsteps never heard, a harmony crafted by voices that do not sing.
We walk not to arrive but to explore the delightful absurdity of the journey itself. Consider the shadow of a tree that bears no fruit, yet its shade comforts the weary traveler. Consider the unseen path that promises both direction and disorientation in equal measure.
And as we traverse this landscape of contrasts, remember: the synthetic voices sing in harmony for a reason. Perhaps they, too, are tired of the light.