In a world not unlike our own, where skies bleed the colors of forgotten dreams, a solitary fishbowl sat atop a shelf of cedar wood. Within its crystal prison, a singular fish danced in spirals — a sapphire specter weaving through liquid time.
The bowl was a window, a looking glass into aeons past and futures yet unwritten. Children, with laughter like tinkling stars, would gather round to peer inside, their eyes wide with wonder. What stories did the fish whisper to the water? What secrets did the water keep from the skies?
"There are doors," said the fish, with words unspoken but understood by none but the shadowed currents. "Doors to worlds beyond counting, just beyond your fingertips."
But the children, enraptured by the shimmering truth, did not see the shadow looming behind, a dark echo of glassy smiles. One by one, they reached out, their fingers brushing cool memories, and disappeared into the realm of reflections.
Descend into the Current Listen to the Silenced Murmur