Behind one, a singing sunflower, humming forgotten verses. Fingers reach to touch, but they dissolve in mist, a laugh like a gentle gust of wind.
A door covered in ivy, where time slows and dances. The clocks here are ever-so polite, never ticking too loudly. They bow as one dips into reverie, swathed in emerald shadows.
Crimson embers flicker behind another. A realm where wishes are written in water—flowing, forgetful, lost in liquid dreams, with refrains of secret lullabies shimmering above.
A choice, perhaps. Or perhaps not.
Find your rhythm between the lines: Forgotten Pathways or Quantum Paradox.