In the shadow-clad margins, graven by an unseen hand, lay the whispers of time’s reluctant embrace.
Carved sigils twist: cyclopes of dormant memories glaring from the abyss.
Scribbled annotations read: “the clock never ticks in the void.”
The relentless cycle begins anew, yet the beginning recalls no end—a dream imprisoned within its own grim tapestry.
Figures emerge:
Each figure weaves its own haunted melody into the cosmic lake of echoes.
Here lies your choice: embrace the dance or deny the rhythm, knowing the beat without sound reverberates through every silent void.