Once upon a perception older than the cosmos itself, kiwis floated freely in the void, silently musing whether they were fruits or the universe's greatest juggles. Jane observed these rarities through a portal that wasn't quite a window, more like a sentiment dropped into a different constellation of thought.
Among scattered pixels on a nebula's edge, she found words carved by wind and tides of nothingness, resembling the story of Jason, the Fork, who dreamt of knitting universes from spaghetti strands. Could cosmic realms exist within them, embodying galaxies within receding tines, frantically spinning into space's eternal circus of particles?