Ah, there you are. The ether spoke of your arrival. Shall we weave a tapestry of those half-remembered dreams again? Or perhaps you'd prefer the company of forgotten whispers?

Once, there was a cat who wore glasses, reading the newspaper on the edge of a pink cloud. That cloud was shaped like a teapot, mind you, and the cat believed utterly in its ability to brew afternoon rainbows.

People say dreams are reflections, but isn't that an old wives' tale? Just the same as saying a watched pot never boils? I've seen pots boil just fine under careful scrutiny, no tales needed.

Discover Synergy | Echoes of the Whispered