It's a warm, long evening. The sun barely hangs in the sky, lacing the edges of the clouds in red and gold. A few moments ago, you heard a knock at your door. Now, you're sitting on your porch with a box in your lap, about the length of your forearm. You unwrap the brown butcher's paper, tear through the thin card, and pull the packing paper away.
{(set: $placesOne to (either: 1, 2, 3))
(set: $placesTwo to (either: 1, 2, 3))}
Inside is a blue-black glass bottle. It's heavy, but only from the thickness of the glass. As you turn it over, nothing seems to move inside. It's stoppered with a wax-capped cork, stamped with a crescent moon. It buzzes faintly in your hands, asking to be opened.
(t8n-depart:"slide-down")+(t8n-arrive:"fade-up")[[Pull out the cork, and look into the bottle.->The Garden]]You find yourself in the center of a circular, walled garden. There is a table in front of you, set for tea for two. The tea is cold and oversteeped, tea leaves bulbous and overfull of water.
In every direction there are statues and perfectly cultivated garden hedges. (either: "A marble satyr, blowing on a pipe," , "A salmon, carved from the leaves, leaping out of the grass,", "A woman smelt of bronze, gazing pensive into a pool of water,") (either: "recently trimmed of all moss and ivy." , "long forgotten, dripping with moss.", "wrapped with prayer banners and bundles, well venerated.")
Three paths stretch out of the maze of shrubs and stonework. Twisting and turning, at the start of each is a low sign, hung from a lampchain.
Which do you follow?
(if: $placesOne is 1)[[[The Forest->The Forest]]](else-if: $placesOne is 2)[[[The Caverns->The Caverns]]](else-if: $placesOne is 3)[[[The Market Square->The Market Square]]]
(if: $placesTwo is $placesOne)[[[The Tower->The Tower]]](else-if: $placesTwo is 1)[[[The Forest->The Forest]]](else-if: $placesTwo is 2)[[[The Caverns->The Caverns]]](else-if: $placesTwo is 3)[[[The Market Square]]]
[[Home]]As you follow the path, it leads up a rising slope until you find yourself at the mouth of a cave, just a little taller than yourself. You step in carefully, following the walls in the dark, as a light begins to reveal itself.
Beyond, there is a twisting, multilayered chamber, lit from above with glittering stalactites, biolumenescent mushrooms caked with clear crystals providing iridescent light.
On every surface there are paintings. Ancient, rough hewn, though still legible.
[[Look at the ancient cave paintings.->Cave Paintings]]The trees begin to thicken and grow more wild as you enter the woods. Birches give way to tall pines, and before long you find yourself at an artesian well, trickling out of a boulderous rock wall. The water is cool and refreshing, the dappled sun glancing off the wet rockface and cascading into a hundred thousand fractal colors.
The water runs down off the rock and off in two directions through prehistoric creekbeds:
[[Towards a small lake, glistening in the sun.->Lake]]
[[Down, deeper into the forest, a little plume of campfire smoke just visible over the treeline. ->Lumberjack]]
[[Return to the garden.->The Garden]]
The road takes you to a bustling market square, people moving quickly in all directions. The colors are vivid and bright, the smells intense. It's hard to get your bearings, but there's something exciting in every direction.
Where do you want to visit?
[[The Bookstore]]
[[The Pastry Stand]]
[[The Fruit Stand]]
[[Return to the garden.->The Garden]]You clear the walls of the garden and the true size of the tower begins to daunt you. Made of rough hewn stone, the shadow of the thing strikes a moment of unease into your heart.
There's only one way in, an archway that leads immediately into a staircase. Some ancient script is written into the walls, but you can't even begin to decode it.
[[Climb the stairs->Floor 1]]You follow the creek down, watching the water widen as it joins with other springs and glacial sources. The water runs clear and crisp, burbling quietly.
At the bottom of the hill, the lake stands quiet. There's no wind today, perhaps there never is. The water is still, tiny ripples appearing on it's surface from the occasional landing of fowl and jumps of it's aquatic inhabitants.
You kneel at the edge of the lake, breathing the thick spring air. The world ticks away quietly in all directions, the movement of a tree here, a bird takes flight there. The sun glints off the lake, mirror flat.
[[Examine your reflection.]]The creek runs dry as you reach a small camp. The sun is lowering in the sky, now cast in a brilliant sapphire purple.
A man sits at the fire, reading from a thick pocketbook. His hair is coarse, mostly white with thick black streaks. His beard is wild, and a small, focused frown just barely pierces it. He sets the book down carefully as you approach.
After a few moments of pleasantries, he invites you to sit. His company is polite, if tinged with melancholy. The sun is disappearing now, and he looks up to the sky.
"Do you believe in the spirits of these woods? The things that sing in the sky and leave glowing flowers in their wake?"
[["I think they have to be real, their evidence is all around us. The whole world is necessarily enlivened."]]
[["These trees hold home to so many things, but I'm not sure I can imagine anything like that."]]
(if: $ring is "true")[["Is this yours?"]](either: "In a flat on the wall," , "Buried into a tiny alcove," , "Carved into a loose stone," , "In the ceiling, near an outcropping of crystals," , "In the soot of what looks to be a well used fireplace,") (either: "there is an image of two people," , "an inscription of an ancient word, translated in some unused part of your mind," , "a deer headed goddess," , "a barely legible slithering basilisk,") (either: "venerating" , "hunting" , "butchering" , "dancing").
[[Look at another.->Cave Paintings]]
[[Return to the garden.->The Garden]]The road takes you to a small cottage, built of brick and good intentions. The door is unlocked, and the house feels intimate and familiar. You can feel your body relax as you enter and look around.
In one corner, a fire crackles in a woodstove. In front of the stove, a cat purrs in long, languid noises that sometimes include a twist of a paw or a shake of the ears.
A desk sits against the wall, covered in papers, tools, string and staples.
The little kitchen smells of fresh bread and rosemary.
You sit for a while, relaxing. Something tickles the back of your mind. This place is yours, afterall. Hasn't it always been?
[[Return to the garden->The Garden]]
[[Head to bed]]You look down at the surface of the water, and find the perfect copy of yourself looking back. It's almost uncanny, how still the water is. You can just barely make out the rocks behind your eyes, when you catch your copy blinking.
It follows along for another moment as your mouth falls agape, before grinning wide, speaking in a voice you cannot hear.
It waits a moment for you to respond, before rolling its eyes in a huff and beckoning you to [[follow]].You dive into the water, following whatever it is posing as your reflection. You realize quickly as your eyes adjust, it's something like an octopus, dancing lazily beneath the surface.
As you catch up, it darts off, leading you down towards the shallow bottom of the lake. At the bottom, caught beneath a small log, something shines.
The glittering, translucent squid-thing helps you pull away the log. You snatch whatever it is and swim up fast, lungs burning.
As you open your fist on the shore, the object reveals itself to be a golden ring.
(set: $ring to "true")
[[Return to the spring->The Forest]]He smiles and nods, looking into your eyes. His gleam in the firelight, full of youthful energy.
"I hope you're right. I find myself hoping they might be something like the remnants of those who've passed on."
He pauses at his own openness, and goes quiet. You sit for a moment in his company, before [[returning to the spring->The Forest]].The man listens to your reply, and does not look away for a long moment.
You enjoy his silent company for a while longer, before [[returning to the spring->The Forest]].You offer the ring up to him, and his body jumps.
"W-where did you find that?"
He takes it from your hand and holds it up to the firelight. "My wife bought this for me, only days before." He hesitates for a moment, before standing, pulling you into a close hug.
You spend the evening trading stories of your travels, before returning to [[the garden->The Garden]].The bookseller is a small woman, wearing thick glasses that obscure big, hopeful eyes. She smiles as you enter her little covered tent, examining the shelves. Some books are almost brand new, whereas others seem almost ancient.
After a few minutes wandering the selection, you pick out a book. (either: "A thick volume containing" , "A thin pocket book of" , "A brand new collection of" , "An ancient text, consisting of") (either: "poetry, written in a land far away and long ago," , "history of the land you stand on, including the name of every king and queen these people have ever felt the rule of," , "short stories, written by a woman who died before her work was ever published,") (either: "with a beautiful engraving of a rose on the cover" , "bound in rich, red leather" , "leafed with gold trim and colorful marginallia" , "inscribed with vivid depictions").
You pay the bookseller, and tuck the book away, walking [[back->The Market Square]].The smell is divine as you approach the stand. There are treats of kinds you've never seen before, beautiful tarts and pies and cookies and pastries, filled with jams of unfamiliar texture and color, topped with flowers unfamiliar to your eyes.
You tell the girl behind the counter that you aren't from around here, and her eyes light up with a smile. She tells you that you must try her personal favorite, a small tart, filled with green fruit custard, topped with little golden berries.
As you take a bite, the flavors melt together in your mouth, at once tart and sweet and delightfully zesty.
As you move to pay her, she waves you off with a wink, and you return delighted to [[the square->The Market Square]].There are so many colors and smells, piles of things that might be something like apples, baskets of berries, glistening in the light. You reach your hand out to grab something, anything from the unlabeled baskets and come back with:
(either: "A small" , "A fist-sized" , "A handful of small" , "An oddly shaped") (either: "fuzzy, green fruit that indents slightly as you push your thumb into it" , "hard-skinned yellow fruit that feels waxy and firm to the touch" , "smooth, purple fruit, dappled with little star shaped white spots").
You buy the fruit and bite into it. It tastes (either: "like the first rain after a draught" , "of seawater and clarity of mind, leaving you invigorated" , "of smoked meats and laughter, leaving you full and gregarious").
You lick the juices off your fingers as you return to the [[square->The Market Square]].You curl up in your bed, under thick, warm blankets. The leaps onto the bed, walking up your belly to come sit on your chest, purring softly and nuzzling against your chin.
[[You find yourself slowly drifting into peaceful sleep.]]Sleep well, my love.
Happy birthday.
PYou climb higher and higher, spiraling around and around in the tower. There are little slit windows that show the world outside. The little garden below, the town and it's bustling market, the cavernous mountain, the vivid forest. A little cottage, smoke billowing from the chimney.
You stop for a moment on a landing, with only a desk and an oil lamp. There's a journal on the desk, open to an illustration of the evershifting garden below.
[[Continue your climb->Floor 2]]
[[Return to the garden->The Garden]]The light is fading from the sky as you climb, the twilight over the water glinting in through the slit mirrors. You feel your breath ragged in your chest, and think of how many years it must have taken to build such a thing. There are little carvings in the wall as you get higher and higher, first of little rudimentary figures, then animals, slowly starting to gain definition.
You come to another little landing to stop and catch your breath. The light is almost gone now. There's nothing in this landing, other than a carving in the floor, a beautiful engraving of a wolf, stuck with an arrow, nursing it's wound.
[[Continue your climb->Floor 3]]
[[Return to the garden->The Garden]]The light is gone after your first few steps, leaving you to guess at each step in the dark. In the light of the sunset, you hadn't realized just how uneven the stairs were. Progress is slow, feeling your way up the walls, fingers glancing over more and more intricate carvings, eventually feeling paint, enamel, filigree. Little metal lines shine in the last of the light. Eventually, a light appears in the stairway above you, leading you out onto another landing.
A lamp, a bed, a wardrobe. All seem recently used, the lamp still lit. The room is almost overwhelmed with beautiful engravings, walls fitted with hammered gold and the scattered light of well-cut gemstones. Depictions of ancient gods and temples, animals in the forest, cherubic children dancing in the moonlight. You could spend the rest of your days in this room and still not see every perfect detail.
[[Continue your climb->Rooftop]]
[[Return to the garden->The Garden]]It isn't very much further up the stairs before you reach the apex of the tower. You can finally catch your breath in the thin, cold air. The sun has set, but the moonlight bathes the little peninsula at the edge of the bay.
You lay on your back, letting the starlight bathe you. Slowly, you can begin to hear the stars singing in their pale, ethereal voices. They sing of times long ago, and times to come, their many voices breaking into different rhythms and melodies before coming back together in one, magnificent voice.
You spend the whole night listening, before returning to [[the garden->The Garden]]
↶↷It's a warm, long evening. The sun barely hangs in the sky, lacing the edges of the clouds in red and gold. A few moments ago, you heard a knock at your door. Now, you're sitting on your porch with a box in your lap, about the length of your forearm. You unwrap the brown butcher's paper, tear through the thin card, and pull the packing paper away.
Inside is a blue-black glass bottle. It's heavy, but only from the thickness of the glass. As you turn it over, nothing seems to move inside. It's stoppered with a wax-capped cork, stamped with a crescent moon. It buzzes faintly in your hands, asking to be opened.
Pull out the cork, and look into the bottle.