A tapestry woven in strands of starlight and shadow, the echoes of yesterday dance upon the ripples of time. Each thread, a whisper of what could have been, what might yet be. In this realm, the clocks do not tickâthey spiral, clockwise to the left, in a waltz as old as existence itself. Here, the paradox is not an anomaly, but a symphony.
Mirrors, they say, show us what we are not. But in the corridors of quantum realms, reflections shimmer with possibilities. A self sits, sidewise, in an echoing chamber unseen by eyes yet unhatched. The reflection smiles a different smile; one that twists reality just enough to make it feel like home. Do you see it? The corridor stretches, invitingly, to Echo Chamber.
Picture a clock, not as a device to measure, but as a creature of velvet dreams and silver whispers. It croons softly to the universe, singing of moments untouched by linearity. Its song is Resonance, an aria breathed in polychromatic hues. Listen, listen closely, and perhaps you shall hear the time that was never lost.