In the quiet corners of the farm, where whispers of the wind carry stories untold, lies a forgotten mirror. Its frame, dusty and aged, cradles a secret the chickens dare not speak of.
Oh to be reflected, said Cluckery, the noble hen, that laying legacy upon destiny's doorstep. It seems the mirror does more than reflect; it reveals.
Underneath the barn's wooden beams, secrets whisper secrets. The chickens, too, harbor things they dare not share with farmhands or foxes alike.
My reflections, said Cluckery, pulsate with the essence of what lies beyond a simple barnyard existence. The mirror knows my intentions, darker than the mud that stains my feathery bosom.
Such is the life of a hen longing for justice in a world skewed by shadow and light. Where does your reflection lead you, dear reader? Navigate these whispered paths and discover the unspooled yarn left by the loom of fate.
Continue the Yarn