Above the whispering fields, the sky unfolded like a map of dreams untold.
In the heart of twilight, I met an old woman with a cloak spun from twilight clouds. She spoke of paths hidden in the labyrinth of stars—roads that twist time within its own vastness.
One that breathes like a living beast and once heard murmuring the names of forgotten constellations in a language both strange and familiar.
Beyond the orchard, lies the clock-stone; ticking rough passages of seasons and memories. Do you remember the storm of '42? Or was it '74? Each raindrop recalls a story left unwritten in the cobwebbed corners of history.
Paths diverge in the arena of infinity, amongst skies that weave mazes unknown to man.