In the garden of unspoken words, where shadows whisper secrets to the listening stars, the clock unwinds. Time loops, dances, and pirouettes in the moonlight.
Once, a forgotten whisper said, "To begin again is to embrace the weave of destiny." And so, the traveler stepped forward, each footfall a note in the cosmic symphony.
The past was a tapestry, fraying at the edges but vibrant at its core. Each thread, a story, a memory, a dream half-remembered. The air smelled of rain and possibilities.
To the left, a door etched with runes of old, to the right, a staircase leading to nowhere. Above, the sky shifted colors, an aurora of forgotten promises.
"What lies ahead?" whispered the traveler, voice echoing into the void. The answer was silence, thick and comforting, like a warm blanket of night.