It entered not by foot, but by silence.
The door never opened.62Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡlbgrry2nrE
The fire dimmed, not from cold—but reverence.62Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡurFcPq6Euv
The glass behind the bar reflected no one.
And yet—it was here.
No shape. No shadow. Only the overwhelming feeling of something remembering me before I was ever poured into form.
It did not sit. It did not speak. But something pressed against the room, as if all the air had taken on the weight of sleep.
I knew what it was before I even thought to ask.
The Oldest Dream.
Older than light, older than stars.62Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡVUEt9n2auO
The wish made by something that had never had a name.62Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡi9y5clSKZH
A longing so ancient it became a presence.
It brought no gift. It asked for no drink.
Instead, it exhaled across the bar—and the bottles flickered with memories that were not mine.62Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡNTcH1N9BgB
A garden made of bone and hope.62Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡyjtzIT4XJn
A city folded beneath a sea of teeth.62Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡN0QXpffNLf
The first time someone looked at a sky and believed it meant something.
I brewed anyway.
Something small.62Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡB3VTqH3ssP
Woven from pauseflower and nightmilk.62Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡexKtoRcJZT
Infused not with heat, but hush.
I poured it into a mug that had waited all these years for exactly this.
The Dream did not drink. But the steam rose, curled upward, and vanished—like a promise kept before it was even made.
And then, without motion, it was gone.
The tavern stood still for hours afterward.
And in the firelight, I swear—I saw myself asleep, dreaming, somewhere far before the beginning.
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