Imagine a crow perching on a branch, contemplating the cosmos of scattered riddles. She sees three paths, where two paths lead to certain doom, and one to where the sun kisses the horizon just before nightfall.
But: the crows you meet can only speak the truth or a cleverly woven fiction...
Three crows guard the paths. You may ask each a single question to discern the way. You're seeking the way to sunlight, but beware the shadows.
Have you walked this pathway before, or does it whisper new stories of sunlight laced with shadow?
Crows gather stories like wind gathers leaves; their truth is sometimes a patchwork of twilight dreams.
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