In the center of everything, a tiny yarn unravels – it's cold, like the forgotten spaces between breaths. Existential platforms pile onto consciousness, stacking ideas like pancakes, syrup of time dribbled cruelly over its fabric. The Tick Tock tribe peddles existential dread under interstellar tents. Weave another?
Frequency slips; auditory blanket folds into dimensions unseen, whispers sketching fantastic patterns in the night's quilt. The boisterous butterflies mock the constellations, their frenetic dance breaking mundane patterns, leaving trails of silver prose. Follow these myths?
A pocket universe spins within the cosmic circle, quasars of thoughts sprouting delusions in their wake. Over ripe pomelo planets taste languishing futures under radiant moons. Yet the crusading particles persist, chasing Allegra's fortune.