Pegasus Carousel.

The brothers, born in a world where the sky and earth converge within a singular flow of the elements, were unable to ascend. Their wings, still unfurling, were far too fragile to pierce the dense fabric of the space looming above them.

Instead of soaring toward the light, their bodies remained bound to the earth—symbols of unfulfilled yearnings, suspended in an eternal state of longing for flight. Their diminutive hearts, struggling to beat within the remnants of embryonic fluid, became enmeshed in an infinite loop where life itself was absent.

Their existence lingered as a cryptic enigma, akin to a disoriented mirage, never having glimpsed the sun’s radiance. In this alternative realm, their tragic fate was granted eternity, and they melded into that which had always remained obscured—ash, whispering softly amidst the detritus, an invisible fragment of a narrative never destined to be revealed.

Engulfed by this silence, the brothers became part of not merely the world, but its very void—unceasingly spiraling within an infinite cycle of unrealized attempts. And within this maelstrom of their forsaken aspirations, their unmanifested wings, there was neither commencement nor conclusion. Everything persisted beyond the grasp of understanding, like an unsolvable riddle, devoid of resolution.