Threads of Dreams

I stood at the edge of a frozen lake beneath a sky that bled twilight, violet and gold swirling softly into the descending darkness. Snow dusted the shore, glittering softly, untouched by any footprints other than my own. The air was silent, a hush so profound it felt as though the world itself had paused its breath, waiting for something someone.

For her.

I'd been here before. I knew it instinctively, the same way one recognizes fragments of dreams forgotten upon waking. Yet every detail was vividly, painfully sharp. I stepped forward, my breath crystallizing into delicate puffs of frost. Beneath my feet, ice stretched like smooth glass, solid enough to hold me yet shimmering with a hint of fragility.

"Liria," I whispered softly, the name escaping my lips like a prayer.