Shadows once belonging to the starlit corridors of a time yet unclaimed, drift among the whispers of the enchanted forest. Here, the trees listen intently, their gnarled roots grasping forgotten echoes as children do dreams. They speak of a world not yet fallen, a compendium of silent celebrations and a forgotten hum of technology deeply woven into nature's embrace.
Paths reemerge from the bramble, veiled in the silver light of a moon unaware of its own cycle. Here lie the traces of an old computer network; vines entangle processors and circuits lie dormant, a spectral web weaving through the sleeping earth. The soil remembers, though those it sheltered now wander unknown timelines.
Voices, distant yet intimately near, sing a prophecy of days without dusk—where automated lights blink in rhythm, marking time as the ancients did with stars. A girl made of shadow and light stands at the crossroads, holding in her hands the fate of binary trees shunned by time itself, both rooted in the now and wandering the future.
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