In the heart of chaos, a presence moves untouched by time, like a whisper of something ancient yet unbroken. Moments swirl in the air, fragile as dust motes caught in sunlight, each one a fleeting note in an endless melody. Time does not pass here; it folds, drapes itself around the silence, soft as silk yet heavy with memory. This presence feels neither bound nor hurried by seconds slipping away, as if woven from threads outside the reach of clocks and calendars. It stands in a place where time is not linear but vast—a sea of moments, some bright, some shadowed, all shimmering like the last light on water. The presence absorbs these fragments, gathering them like fallen leaves, becoming timeless in a world always shifting, forever transient, yet eternal in its stillness. Show less
