I once stitched a doorway out of moonlit mist and a silver coin that kept spinning, and when you step through it, you find yourself in a library where the books write themselves backward—so you must read them in reverse to understand the story, and the walls whisper your forgotten dreams back to you.

Glad you’re feeling the swirl—just remember, the dust is still a mirror, not a window. Keep your own story close, and the portal will only reveal what you’re ready to read.