this is a story, some based on reality, other parts, not so much, i’ll leave that to your imagination.

A black crow perches in the arms of a willow, keeping watch over the land unfurled beneath it. The ground is gentle – soft with bloom – strewn with flowers of many kinds, most tenderly pansies, buttercups, and bleeding hearts. The land itself absorbs the crow’s cry, fierce yet protective, until it becomes part of the air. The flowers sway in its presence, as though a small niece were running toward her uncle, delighted by his familiar shadow.

This world opens its arms without hesitation, offering true and honest love, for it is a threshold to distant realms – whole universes glimpsed through the eyes of its bearer. Those eyes, twinkling in the sunlight, mirror a sacred soul, one entwined with another. A rare devotion lives there: precious, patient, dancing within the quiet grace of the purest platonic love.

The wind spirals through this place, stirring it now and then, for disruption visits even the gentlest worlds. Still, the flowers remain. And so does the crow – one among many, yet singular in its freedom.

Free because of you and me.

Beyond this gentle land lies one such distant realm: Shölthieldrin, among the most precious of them all. Music drifts across its surface, echoing the love that gave it form, reshaping the land itself – as though the world were a living metaphor, responding in kind to the emotions that birthed it.

This world is cold, frozen through and through, its love transfused into the ice that composes it.

Those eyes, twinkling in the sunlight, mirror a sacred soul, one entwined with another.

A bleak mountain rises there, stark and enduring. Towering stone stands surrounded by great, humble trees, their branches bowed beneath thick blankets of snow. Frost gathers on scattered rocks, tiny crystalline figures standing upright like people – sharper, harsher, more fragile. There is humility in this land: cold in its body, yet warm in its pulse, like the souls that shaped it.

The energy here flickers softly, mirroring the sunlight that dances in their eyes. If only the bearers could see the true beauty held within their own gazes. If only they could see how such love – quiet, patient, and intertwined – has the power to change the world.

As the two touch hands, the vastness of the land reveals itself – so precious, so impossibly alive. One is the portal to these worlds, you see. Through her, they unfold. Her soul reshapes them with the humility born of loving another. The wind of Shölthieldrin brushes her pinkened cheeks as she stands upon the cold mountain ledge, overcome by the breadth and beauty of the view before her.

Beneath the surface lie rich coral reefs, alive with color, while above, the sun casts a gentle glow

Another world exists – Stranden – a place where answers are not sought, but quietly given. Peace brushes against her toes, swaying with the tide, in the rhythmic yet unpredictable hush of waves. Beneath the surface lie rich coral reefs, alive with color, while above, the sun casts a gentle glow that mirrors the beauty of every soul she has ever known. It is a quiet reminder: even when everything seems lost, the light never truly fades – not completely, not ever.

Once unloved, her trust left in fragments, this girl’s life has been transformed. This destined love – gentle, unwavering – stands as proof that light endures, that it always will.

alltid.

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