The void whispered secrets, the kind that hover between breaths and disappear before dawn. Here, in a time oscillating between yesterday and the morrow, an echo found its voice—anachronistic, displaced, and profound.
Once, there was a village built on questions. Its inhabitants spoke in riddles, weaving their lives with unfathomable words. "The sun rises in the east," they would say, only to follow it westward, towards promised answers.
Among them was Francesca, a dreamer with a modern gaze, dignified by time yet adrift in millennial chaos. She sought the origin of silence, traversing shadows where whispers often sought refuge.
One evening, a stranger—the Keeper of Unspoken Tales—gifted her an artifact: a silent clock, its hands eternally set at midnight. "Do not fear its stillness," he murmured, "for it measures not time, but traverses voids."
And so, she travelled realms of silence where clocks ticked backward, unraveling the threads of forgotten epochs. The ghostly apparition of an ancient scribe guided her, etching narratives in the air with invisible ink.