A tapestry woven from silent whispers; a fabric of time unwinding, where no lines are yet written.
Within the skeleton of thought, between the sinews of mind and ether, lies an unwritten plane.
Do shadows remember, echoing what never was, or only harbor the echoes of what might yet be?
Threads dissolve like twilight, sliding through fingers, waiting to weave destinies unwritten.
Follow the echoThe destination remains undefined, the journey the only truth as every step stitches possibility into reality.