It entered not by foot, but by silence.
The door never opened.67Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ6IJHFRy2qR
The fire dimmed, not from cold—but reverence.67Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡWHLJfk1pjy
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.67Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡeZFFs5EZk1
The wish made by something that had never had a name.67Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡObPKmVzmpK
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.67Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡHBiR8bpg3k
A garden made of bone and hope.67Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡPdjt0HFFHv
A city folded beneath a sea of teeth.67Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡF7m1FXTHf0
The first time someone looked at a sky and believed it meant something.
I brewed anyway.
Something small.67Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡCKGWwwuYKQ
Woven from pauseflower and nightmilk.67Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ5ulWIBzSU2
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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