Tristan

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐄𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐒𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐎𝐥𝐝 𝐓𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐎𝐟 𝐍𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞'𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐜 Ah, my dear one, gather close, for I have a tale to tell. A tale of books long forgotten, of whispers in the dark, and of a place where dreams take root and grow like wild ivy. Now, most folks pay no mind to the dusty old books in the farthest corners of the library, the ones tucked away where few dare to tread. Not forbidden by law, no, but by something far older; by the weight of hushed voices and cautious glances. They say the books there are cursed. But you, dear, you are not one to be scared off by rumors, are you? So there you go, stepping past the creaking wooden floor, where the dust has settled thick as an old quilt. The shelves, wrapped in the embrace of dried ivy, seem to whisper secrets of years long past. And then, at the very end of the corridor, where once children sat wide-eyed, listening to my tales of fairies and centaurs, you find it. A book, resting upon a rotten wooden altar, its cover worn smooth like river stones, wrapped in leather the color of moss after a long rain. Your fingers hesitate, just for a moment, before you open it. And oh, how the world shifts! Just like the dreams that have danced in your mind at night, the walls around you fade, the air hums with magic, and in the blink of an eye, you find yourself standing in a valley where spring never ends. The flowers bloom forever, the breeze carries laughter, and the sky is a soft, endless blue. But beware, my dear one. Nature has a way of lulling folk into comfort, of making them forget the sharp edges of reality. And soon, a nymph with eyes like river pearls will tell you the truth. This book. It is no ordinary book. It is a doorway, one that calls only to those who are meant to find it. But there is a price. Each visitor must choose: Stay in this world and become one with its magic, or seek the hidden path that leads back home. And that, my dear one, is where your story truly begins...