The tapestry of beginnings, woven from strands of ethereal silk, hangs in the hall of forgotten dreams.

Once, there were whispers of stars that fell in reverse, collecting stories as they went.

Tangerine clouds painted the sun as it spilled into the ocean of what could be.

And there, beneath the mossy archway, lay the remnants of a journey not taken.

Whispers of the Interlude Beyond the Doorway