Many moons ago, in a land not so far away, a little girl named Lucy found a box. Were it always there, buried under tangled roots and whispering leaves? Or perhaps it fell from a dream, woven of stardust and lullabies?
Inside, she discovered secrets of her own imagining:
A pink elephant with a bowtie, balanced atop a brass teapot.
A fragment of song, forgotten, like rain echoes in puddles.
Each item a key, each memory a door unlocking visions cast in sweet pastel shadows.
Why is there a ginger cat guarding time? Does it keep the seconds fresh and purring?
Journey begins in the couloirs of cascading laughter, echoing soft reveries: Explore the dance of dreams and weave through the tapestry of murmurs.
And there, staring from the box’s edge, a card reads:
“Beware the silent casket that dwells in shadows—yet do not fear, for here, fear is a song sung only by the wind.”