In the twilight between sound and silence,
a butterfly flutters with forgotten echoes[^1].
Time is a thread
unraveling through the wrists of invisible clocks.
"Silver-limbed shadows dance upon the walls of porcelain dreams."
whispered the clockmaker under the second moon.[^2]
A low hum resonates in the space where thoughts collide—
an endless corridor adorned with whispers of dust.
(See Chapter 3, "The Conversations We Never Finished," by Celeste Nebula)
Reflection of Voices