A storm of shimmering glass, spiraling inward with whispers of forgotten colors. Eyes blink in patterns of sound, tracing paths through invisible webs. Wings, woven from fragmented time, unfurl in silent arcs, scattering shards of light. The air hums with untold possibilities, bending like liquid thought. A figure stands in the void, neither here nor there, an echo of motion, suspended between moments. It is neither seen nor unseen, but felt in the stillness between breaths.