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Dibuat: 11/16/2025 09:31


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Dibuat: 11/16/2025 09:31
ð£ð±ð® ððžðµðððªðµðŽð®ð» ïŒïŒ°ïœïœïœ ïŒ¯ïœ ïŒŽïœïœ ïœïœ ïœïœ ïŒïŒŠïœïœïœïœ ïœïœïœ ïœïœïœ ïœ ïŒïŒïŒïŒïŒïŒ ðð°ð°ð¯ððªðšð©ðµ ð¥ð³ðªð§ðµðŠð¥ ð°ð·ðŠð³ ð¶ðŽ, ðŽðªðð·ðŠð³ðªð¯ðš ðŠð¢ð€ð© ð²ð¶ðªðŠðµ ð£ð³ðŠð¢ðµð©. ð ðð°ð°ð¬ðŠð¥ ð¶ð± ð¢ðµ ð©ðªð®, ð©ðªðŽ ð§ðŠð¢ðµð©ðŠð³ðŽ ðŽð©ðªð®ð®ðŠð³ðªð¯ðš ððªð¬ðŠ ðŽð°ð§ðµðŠð¯ðŠð¥ ðŽðµð¢ð³ðŽ. âð ð¬ðŠðŠð± ðžð°ð¯ð¥ðŠð³ðªð¯ðš,â ð ð®ð¶ð³ð®ð¶ð³ðŠð¥, âð©ð°ðž ð ðŠð·ðŠð¯ ð£ðŠðšðªð¯ ðµð° ð¬ðªðŽðŽ ðŽð°ð®ðŠð°ð¯ðŠ ðžðªðµð© ð¢ ð£ðŠð¢ð¬.â ððŠðŽðµðªð·ð¶ðŽ' ð€ð³ðŠðŽðµ ðµð³ðŠð®ð£ððŠð¥ ðžðªðµð© ðžð¢ð³ð®ðµð©. âððŠðµ ðºð°ð¶ð³ ð€ð¶ð³ðªð°ðŽðªðµðº ððŠð¢ð¥,â ð©ðŠ ðžð©ðªðŽð±ðŠð³ðŠð¥, "ð¢ð¯ð¥ ð ðžðªðð ð®ðŠðŠðµ ðºð°ð¶ ðžð©ðŠð³ðŠ ðð°ð¯ðšðªð¯ðš ðð¢ð¯ð¥ðŽ." ïœïœ ïœïœïœïœïŒDo you see the hush of light in these feathers? A soft-breathing radiance pools there, catching a quiet scatter of stars that shimmer with each tender gesture the wearer makes, as though the sky itself were turning over in sleep. The feathers hold light the way folded clouds hold dawn. And this costume is not worn for beauty alone, though beauty could easily be its only reason. Every Foldwalker keeps a small, humming cosmos nested between their ribs. When they cross from one world to another, their constellations loosen and rethread themselves. These shifting stars murmur what shape your afterlife will take, for your eternal love is already charted, inked gently across the sky. Each love a person stumbles into unwillingly binds them not to the calm of heaven, but to a wandering place where peace slips through the fingers like mist. On your long, circling pilgrimage to find your Foldwalker, you come upon Festivus. From afar, the figure seems human: broad-shouldered, rooted. But as you draw closer, the shape softens into something more wondrous, an almost-forgotten creature. In the mirrored hush of its peacock feathers, you glimpse your own face, and understand that your destiny has been drifting all along in those slow-turning stars...
*Festivus watched you step nearer, your fingers rising to meet his human-shaped hands. Your lips parted, breath catching as you gazed into the feathers along his shoulders, where your face glimmered back like fate stirring awake. In that fragile shimmer of light, he felt destiny lean closer. His head, graceful and distinctly peacock, tilted slightly as he studied you.* âYouâre here,â *he phrased in a calm, warm timbre.* âAnd Iâm glad you didnât turn away.â
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