It entered not by foot, but by silence.
The door never opened.71Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ4XdHpSt8Dd
The fire dimmed, not from cold—but reverence.71Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡT5NCecjFqK
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.71Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡhykvFbTL9i
The wish made by something that had never had a name.71Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡs1suN3DMFf
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.71Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡPNheuDDiKr
A garden made of bone and hope.71Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡGBnZm1iYBP
A city folded beneath a sea of teeth.71Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡsyMG4dUYTJ
The first time someone looked at a sky and believed it meant something.
I brewed anyway.
Something small.71Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡwLTyR352Ta
Woven from pauseflower and nightmilk.71Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡup1owb4r9y
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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