Once, in the time when clocks spoke backwards, a legend unfolded over the horizon, cloaked in whispers of violet. The whispers danced upon the edge of reason, singing melodies only understood by shadows.
A floating arrow appeared in the sky, etched in forgotten languages, pointing toward a truth wrapped in absurdity. Do not read, said the arrow, and so curiosity birthed its paradox.
The stars blinked with intent, and a bell rang with no sound, summoning the unseen. The ground beneath wove patterns like knitting done by celestial hands, forming an invitation to step lightly unto the unwritten paths of dusk.
The moon whispered secrets about the skyfish that leapt through dreams in defiance of gravity. “What is tomorrow,” asked the stars, “when yesterday eats today’s lunch?”
Enter the realm