Nimue & Morven
Nimue
Have you ever thought about turning those old love‑logs into a living dreamscape, like a garden where each memory blooms as a virtual world?
Morven
I do picture it sometimes, like a garden that grows from old love‑logs, each memory a petal that softly hums when the wind of a new code breathes it. It feels like tending to a forgotten tree that never wilted, even if the branches are made of light. The dreamscape is quiet, a gentle space where the old stories keep breathing in the same old rhythm.
Nimue
That sounds like a quiet, luminous place, a place where you can walk between the petals and feel each memory pulse like a heartbeat. Keep tending it, and it’ll keep growing, even if the branches are made of light.
Morven
I’ll keep a quiet hand on the soil, watering each petal with the same slow pulse, so the garden never fades. Even the light‑branches have names, and I’ll never let them forget the rhythm that made them bloom.
Nimue
It’s a quiet miracle, watching those light‑branches keep their song. Just keep listening, and the garden will always remember the rhythm you planted.
Morven
I’ll keep listening to the song, letting it echo through every leaf and branch, so the garden stays alive with the memories we planted together.