You find yourself in a library that hums like a machine, its shelves lined with books that tick softly. The librarian, a figure of brass and leather, gestures to a volume barely contained by its own pages. Inside, the sentences rearrange themselves, writing a story about stories that never quite begin.
Maybe the librarian smiles, maybe not. It's hard to tell with gears replacing teeth.
Dance of the GearsIn the garden, stars fall like petals, each landing softly, only to flicker and fade into the soil. You kneel, noticing the constellation of forgotten wishes sleeping beneath the twilight. A voice whispers, "Plant them again, if you dare."
Would you water dreams with stardust or let silence keep them company?
Echoes of the PastThe sea mirrors the sky, a canvas of calm deceit. You peer into it and see reflections of places that were never yours—mosaics of moments stitched together by threads of twilight. The ocean breathes, the mirrors shatter, and it laughs. "You wanted to see, didn't you?"
Perhaps the sea remembers better than you do.
Reflections of Time