The ballots were whispers, sown by the forgotten moon, weaving their way into the rivers of starlit decisions. Here, in the luminescent dusk, numbers dance on the edge of reality and madness. Did you hear? The oracle's laugh echoed through the hills, a symphony of broken clocks and painted skies.
Vote for the shadow that never was, yet always will be. In the council of winking fires, a decision made is a decision unmade. Candidate complies with the rhythm of invisible pens tracing on the parchment of dreams.
Enter the Murmurs Touch the Illusion Ephemeral Vote