The antique clock, forever stuck at three fourteen, rests on the once crimson mantelpiece, now faded to a ghostly blush.

In a corner, dust collects like forgotten whispers, each particle spinning tales unheard. Somewhere, a grandfather's voice echoes, recounting tales of yesterday's tomorrows. Discover the cogs.

The sound of birds chirping mingles with the everlasting tick, an odd juxtaposition, like a dance of past and future.

Beneath the clock, a diary speaks in yellowed pages, recounting dreams of a world that never was, never will be. Read the diary.

In another life, another time, the clock must have chimed, its resonant call drawing attention in a forgotten café.

The table beside the window holds an empty cup, a stain of coffee shaped like the continents of a mysterious map. Explore the map.