"Find the echoes in the emptiness," she whispered beneath the spreading twilight, "where forgotten harp strings tremble."

The clock ticked in reverse, unraveling threads of stardust as he stepped into the whispering moment.

"They sing only when the moon turns its back," murmured the old one, eyes reflecting the unseen chorus.

An orchestra with invisible instruments awaits just beyond reach, their notes folding into bright splinters dancing through the haze.

A waltz with shadowdancers... heard, never understood. Their laugh untouched by the dawn.

Voices of the Phantoms Silent Arguments of Time