I stumbled across the ruins where the whispers of forgotten laughter lingered in the air like smoke. Dates were arbitrary, yet the scent of jasmine never faded, rolling back the years with a simple waft, a breeze from nowhere, cradling memories with fingers unseen. There was always more to the unfolding, tears borne of resolute joy.
Chronometers failed under pressure's haunting caress. Verdant vistas morphed into molten plains where days stretched and shrunk alike. Who were the arbiters of this dance, sequestered behind veils of unraveling epochs? It didn't matter; galacto-snakes told their stories with a certain grace only ages could grant, endless during a slumber at the mile marker.
Who's next?How could she know my name seventeen hundred years before my birth? Maybe the mirrors in her smile only reflected glimmers of overlapping destinies, woven through passages none could eschew. There was a time, if such concoctions had spines, when the bees hummed the very same notes eternity had forgotten. Echoes danced beyond yesteryear.
The crossroads beckoned indifferent to seekers, unafraid of the stories sketched out in chalk beneath the corners of our fingertips. Abandoned conversations sprouted between stones, awaiting the resolute declaration which proved fleeting, whispers scattered by the emergence of a new chronomancer's moon...