Nestled in an unknown place, you follow a road of sun tanned dirt; a winding path between brambles and reeds...

The sun never seems to lower or rise, suspended at the perfect height for flowers to bloom and trees to thrive. You can hear a babbling brook, see the light shimmer off its surface when you pass by. A frog hops from the shallow depths, looking at you curiously. At the end of the path lies a cottage of clay, ivy crawling up the walls, a garden of magnificent flora humbled into neat sections. A woman sits on a rocking chair, weaving something in her hands with golden thread. You have yet to identify what it is, yet, something tells you it will be an awe to behold.

The woman looks at you. She smiles.