Under the glow of two suns, Maria stepped into the bazaar with a sense of knowing. The vendor's stall—ceramic pots spilling over like laughter—had somehow graced her dreams last night. Dewy mist lingered beneath towering canopies of vibrant fabric, an echo of existence she had yet to decipher.
Every step on the cobblestone path was a note in an orchestra she hadn't realized she conducted. Children played, their laughter fractals of sound, ripping the fabric of normalcy. She paused, breath caught—was the breeze singing her whispers?
Those thoughts were threads pulling at her core. Following the whispers, she tread lightly through the trees, hoping to find solace within and perhaps a hint of what had sparked such vivid familiarity.
At the heart of the bazaar stood an old woman, relic of time known simply as The Oracle. Her eyes, galaxies of forgotten beats, beckoned Maria. As hands danced across the surface of crystalline spheres, they spun tales of a life lived before and layers of skin shed along the journey. Maria leaned closer, losing herself in echoes of forgotten melodies.
Like a tapestry unwinding, Maria's pasts and futures merged—each strand weaving in, out, and around the other. Brief glimpses of another life leaked through, tantalizingly close, yet just beyond her fingertips. But what was real?
The world spun gently. In the dappled sunlight, she felt the pull of gravity shift. A smile brushed past her lips like dew on morning petals. Yet she remained stationary, fixed in a moment that was both hers and... not. Time danced, an intricate weave beyond the grasp of mere mortals.
The tale paused, suspended in The Oracle's gaze, leaving a lingering echo of wonder.