I reached the shoreline just as dawn broke, hues of pink and gold splashing across the horizon, yet no footprints were left behind. The whisper of waves told tales of what was, or what could be, but I was the sole wanderer of this edge.
Somewhere, a bell tolled—a sound-time forgotten by all but the most stubborn clocks. The truth is, beneath that sound lay a city hidden within the depths of my dreams, where I had once been happy. I never recall how I got there, only the laughter echoing through the alleyways.
Beneath the layers of fog, the scent of jasmine lingered longer than it should have. A path opened to the left, new yet familiar, leading toward a future inaccessible in waking hours. Jasmine dreams, soft and unyielding, clung to the veil of morning.
In my pocket, a small artifact: a brass compass that spun not northward, but in circles of its own making. It hinted at possibilities, doors half-open, leading to stories untold.