In the winter of 1890, amid swirling snowflakes that danced like tiny ballerinas, I accidentally stumbled into an old bookstore in the heart of Prague. The sign above the door read "Chronicles of the Forgotten," yet no one was inside. As I browsed the dusty tomes, I found a peculiar book titled "The Temporal Diary of Edgar Penn." Flipping through its pages, I was shocked to read my own name penned under a date set in the distant future, 2023.
It was a humid Tuesday in June when Daniel met the woman dressed in Victorian attire at the café around the corner. Her name was Eliza, and she spoke as if she'd just stepped through the pages of a historical novel. Over steaming cups of Earl Grey, she recounted tales of gaslit streets and horse-drawn carriages, punctuated with the promise of future adventures in the time-locked vaults of London.
In the sprawling gardens of Versailles, just off the beaten tourist path, Martha discovered a hidden pathway flanked by ancient yew hedges. Following the path led her to an elaborately carved wooden door embedded in a stone wall. When opened, the door revealed a vibrant world of color—a place untouched by the passage of time, where the seasons were eternally poised between spring and summer.