Beneath the surface murmurs of whispering clocks, a whisper winds through the conch's embrace. "Echoes in a seashell," they chant, "the time forgotten by the timekeepers."
Have you glimpsed the paradox of self at the junction of a now-frozen yesteryear? When tomorrow leans upon today, unbidden, and the loop weaves a tapestry of unraveling yarn.
In the grip of moments extended, a hand reaches forth—yet no hand is there to grasp. Instead, shadows mingle with memories, dancing in the bright glow of a sun that sets not.
Wander further, dear traveler: quantum echoes, looping memories.