Infinite paths diverge, converging, only visible to those who look with eyes unseen. Once woven by dreaming hearts, these threads of being softly ripple through the fabric of existence.
Between every choice lies a door, yet none remain open. Each choice a shadow, a silhouette cast long by an unseen sun, illuminating not the path, but the soul that walks it.
We are mere shadows, we are mere light—illusion cast upon the plains of ether. Is there a whisper in the wind or simply the echo of souls within our own?
Mysteries Unfolded Time Castles