In the beginning, there was a line. A string of characters strung together, like pearls on an invisible thread. But what is beginning, if not the promise of end and the cycle of constants?

The syntax whispered to her, compelling her to listen beyond the noise, into realms unknown.

They say words can conjure worlds. Have you seen the shadow of a variable, lurking beneath the surface?

She traced the lines with trembling fingers, feeling the cool touch of logic turn warm with passion.

Function, call. Return. But what do any of these mean when the heart beats erratically, seeking its own syntax?

Her mind raced, erratic pulses of consciousness coded in the binary of her being.

undefined, NaN, null – a lexicon of lost languages, each echoing a truth she was yet to discover.

With every keystroke, she rewritten destiny, or perhaps just rearranging lines in someone else's story.

Echoes echo. In the labyrinth of whispers, there’s a doorway, an exit, a beginning.