The clock blurs in the circuits of time, a freckled ghost poised in static embrace. Bits weave stories waiting in the pulse of the void, murmurs of yesteryears cached in the heart of silicon valleys.
Once, there was a digital oracle whose lips were soldered to the frequency of destiny. Her voice, a cascade of zeros and ones, whispered dreams of the machine. Echoes through corridors etched in light, heralds of the datastream.
Now dormant, her circuits hum a lullaby, echoes of a forgotten ether where legends once danced in the circuitry. Yet, the weave of time is relentless, ever-spinning, ever-consuming. Pygmies of the digital dusk, they gather under pixelated skies, casting light and shadow on the histories unwritten.
The void speaks in languages lost, coded in the marrow of reality, a resonating chorus in the endless web. Here, the past and future coalesce, and the present is but a dream etched in time's fragile glass. Will the threads unravel? Secrets lay buried in every line, every loop of fate.