She drifted, a whisper upon the winds of a forgotten memory. In her heart, the eternal question: What does it mean to be free? As she soared between the boundary of worlds woven with light and shadow, she left trails of unsung stories—ephemeral, glistening in the autumn sun like fleeting dreams captured in amber.
Along the edge of a world brimming with mundane realities, there existed a garden untouched by time. Here, the petals of strange blooms held colors unseen by eyes accustomed to earth's palette. It was in this garden that she learned to fly, to untether her spirit from the weight of flesh and bone. Birds would gather, a silent audience to her ascension, their songs echoing the truths of skies uncharted.
"Come with me," she would say, her voice weaving through the air like the softest melody. Yet, the birds remained, anchored by their own invisible strings. Only she could understand the language of their song—a symphony of longing and belonging, of a flight only imagined.
The Persistent Winds