In the quiet moments, when the world seems to pause, echoes of forgotten tales drift into our consciousness[^1]. Ever wonder what those whispers say, or where they come from? It's like trying to catch smoke with your bare hands.
The secret is not to listen too intently, or the echoes will vanish[^2] like shadows at noon. Isn't it funny how we chase after things that don't seem to exist until we stop running?
And then there's that feeling of déjà vu, where you swear you've lived this moment before. Perhaps you have[^3]. Perhaps there's a parallel version of you sitting in a café, pondering the same question, or not.
So, where do we wander next? Perhaps Ghost Murmurs or maybe we linger Beneath the Surface? The choice is nebulous, much like the echoes themselves.