Far past the endless star-drenched cosmos of all reality, above the constellations and untold myths that made the soundless universe whole, was a place where skies were like parchment sheets coaxed in velvet gold and ivory, and feather clouds drifted aimlessly within an atmosphere filled with soft flowing wind. Its placement lay beyond the universe itself, a place that existed just outside the black canopy, beyond the ever-expanding bubble that was space.

It was the realm of Aezial, the forgotten beauty.

This world, a realm that had long since been unnoticed by the borderless space below, was separate from all of which was catastrophic and unrested, away from strife and all its conflicting turmoil. There were no asteroids, for they were below, while here was far higher. Here, everything that existed was part of a fluid, dream-like landscape saturated with glassy oceans that whispered fresh salted breezes. It was a flat aquatic dreamscape that stretched as far as the horizon would allow it.

Just above the quiet waves, pastel islands floated in place, each one cradling lush foliage teaming with flora that glowed faint light from their petals. Trees were filled with a snowy hue that teetered between cream and white. These scattered shards of land were the only sanctuaries in which plant life could dwell, for the ocean hadn’t a floor to speak of. Its depth remained an infinite deep blue, its pressure building until numbers failed to comprehend such weight. If this world was a creature, it would be terribly confused. This mythical place was that of a planetary snow globe. Oxygen roamed despite the small atmosphere, and sunlight was instead skylight, for all means of heat, cold, and upper brightness were products of a canopy that merely changed shades to resemble the seasons.

Indeed, this haven realm with all its aquatic vastness and floating islands, was where light could roam free and stay calm as the lambent beams poured down between the clouds. Thoughts were warm. Imagination held tight. Majesty reigned supreme. Perhaps the cosmos had left this solaced dimension alone in silence, begotten by mysticism, forgotten by time.

Yet this land would only feel one pair of feet kiss its surface, two bare feet. Standing on one such hovering outcrop of land was a speck animating tender light from within. Her white dress lacked any design, smoothed free of color that would otherwise deter from its meaning, as it flowed to the air’s subtle touch. Her design was simple, for outer complexity was unneeded. She was a simple dash of white paint when seen from afar, yet if one focused in, her true shape emerged, a youth who appeared like a princess born from celestial DNA.

Each step she took left an ambient imprint on the grass that faded seconds later. Her hair was that of long alabaster strands textured like silk. And when the sunlight angled right, her otherwise ghostly fair skin gleamed with pearly reflection, slightly pink and blue. This girl, an entity from a history long since left to stand still, was the only inhabitant within this realm. She alone wandered about here, rested here, and lived here. The only form of company was a fire red flower pinned to her dress, a badge, an artifact made from finely stitched fabric.

“Rosa, Veolet, Eon, Yunia.” She hummed the names of every island within her view, through bold orange eyes the color of tiger lilies. These names had been encoded to her mind for many millennia now. Yet, her own body hadn’t seen change, caught in a sempiternal state of youth.

She turned ninety degrees clockwise. “Peter, Coraline, Andrea, Noel.”

Another turn clockwise. “Yuma, Dean, Meisu, Calice.”

Another turn. “Teinsu, and Verma.”

She then pointed to herself and whispered, “Nev.”

But someone was missing, a floating land piece vacant from its flock. Perhaps it had been blown away by an airy gust, left to move aimlessly across the dream-filled ocean.

“Oh.” Nev’s voice was wintry crisp. Her eyes veered down at the flowerbed dancing subtly in the breeze. “The one my feet are under, Scarlet, almost forgot about you.”

If need be, this spirit of the garden could name each grass blade, never missing one, for living here through the ages had granted knowledge beyond belief. Each form of creation deserved attention even if the taxonomy itself was fruitless all the same. Everything had an identity written in its atomic form no matter how insignificant. She cared for each one with a tenderness seemingly infinite.

A warm breeze rustled through her dress and hair like a distant call, this one warmer than before. It was late morning. It was daytime’s most eloquent phase. It was time to tend to this ethereal lush and all the nature held abound. With a simple thought of flight, an aura shimmered around Nev’s body, glistening tiny specks of orange and neon tangerine. Wings materialized near her shoulder blades, hovering close to her back. They were made of orange feathery crystals that refracted the light passing through them.

Stepping off the grassy ledge, updrafts from the surf below made her airborne travel an effortless matter of keeping tabs on where these gales were heading. Flying into a dead spot would result in a swift plummet towards open waters. Her first task was to spread energy upon each island to insure the flora’s sustained health. She unpinned the flower and held it steady; a sun’s face gazing down on immortal greenery. Its petals bloomed into fiery tendrils that blazed with searing, energetic heat. From its burning arms, kindled sparks fell to litter the ground, becoming jeweled embers when they landed and cooled. They contained nutrients vital for seed and plant growth. These young sprouts would thrive in the coming time. Shoots would rise. The shrill of decay would cease again and again as her progress carried on their lives.

From Rosa to Verma, Nev’s next task was to cut down the brambles that had overgrown during nightfall, when the sunless sky lost its light and heat. Her gaze poured over the disjointed land in search of anything that moved, anything with hazardous vines or thorns. Her attention turned to steel, focusing like the entire Arctic Circle condensed to a pinhole.

A hazardous stir was spotted near Peter’s inlet meadow, a carnivorous plant behemoth bearing arms heavier than tree trunks and with teeth just as dangerous. Nev unpinned the flower brooch again. It glowed into a saber, transforming to become a tool perfect for necessary slaughter. Truly, this razor edge had a lambent shape formed to sever rogue weeds.

Despite this monstrous plant being fathoms bigger than she, it was quite effortless to cut it down. Just two fluid swipes and the behemoth went down in a harsh glittered halo, where its remains would be absorbed into Peter’s earth to ripen its soil. These overburdened plants would otherwise cause havoc to the ecosystem’s meticulous balance. It was only five hundred years ago when the former island Genier decayed away due to these same horrid venus vines tearing it apart.

Her daily tasks were not over yet. There was more earth in need of care. She reaped the lotus gardens growing among Noel’s forests. She sowed the clover seeds along Yuma’s vales. Like a sky-bound engineer, this ivory white spirit had built each molecule from infant atoms, harnessing lonely thoughts and ideas from her mind to manifest this land in full. And where the grass overstayed its spread, they were brought down to the dirt, all pastel white with energy inside. With endless youth and a mind made from stardust, she could keep this world alive until eternity passed.

Nev landed on a nearby grass field along the island Rosa’s inner plains. Now her wings were unneeded, so they dissipated as flickering glints that rose to touch the sky. Her toes kissed the grass. Scattered trees moved their leaves to stray gusts. Afar, a river sparkled with diamonds as it weaved through rolling hills. It was a view fit for a deity such as herself, though, something seemed amiss. After taking in the sight, she gripped the sides of her dress in contempt, noticing that unmistakable absence of birds chirping, or ferrets rustling.

During nightfall, she sang hymns about the tides, reminiscing about days that were coded in simple languages. Where negligible light echoed back as virtual noise, time seemed digital. Sleep was a myth. Nev never dreamed or even knew what drowsiness was. Morningtide and Eventide shared only one frame. At least in the night, this deep blue canopy was here, watching down.

Dawn rose. She slipped away from shallow, open-eyed rest and went about performing the same rote tasks of keeping her realm free of burden, cloning the data from yesterday then using it again. She reaped the lotus gardens growing among Noel’s forests. She sowed the clover seeds along Yuma’s vales. So many seasons had passed through her memory, and being the guardian through it all had left every era seeming like dated phases meant to be forgotten, and every new sprout as a stale beginning.

Please, I can’t be jaded yet. Time is all I have.

Flying below the floating land chunks, she cupped water from the ocean’s face and drank, seeing nothing that teamed or swam beneath. It was an empty sight to fill one’s vision, painful.

It was a phenomenon, how this Ai-angel was born one morning during the universe’s genesis, waking up to the passing of time, to a symbiotic existence where sentient sound had already vanished. Yet precious codes for these sounds hovered in her brain, lines of numbers, billions of them, and not just sound, but shapes and colors as well. Most of them depicted life forms she had never observed in reality. More strangely was how this world had already come into being when she first opened her eyes, when her body had first synthetically absorbed the skylight.

Like a temporal mainframe, her mind hung in idle during most days, dedicated to stability, or to carry on an existence that would someday see meaning beyond this near-religious act of mantra-like engagement.

So thus, whenever daytime was swallowed by the night’s creeping dusk, she allowed her crystallized circuits to wander, to seep out and imagine what a new form of life would be like, a sentience more complex than that of unthinking plants, what it would look like, or sound like, feel like. Did she believe in what a robot could dream, or that androids could imagine electric sheep as they strayed from the waking world?

The night drew like pulled nylon strands kept just out of their breaking point. Her thoughts soaked deep within her cerebral cortex, perhaps longer than they were designed to, because it appeared that merely manifesting these mental images would not suffice. She lay flat on a grassy hill that angled gently to the ambient blackened blue veil. This unlit gallery was never moonstruck. Moons were only found below in space, not here, not above all the universe’s majesty, where even black holes never ventured. If oblivion was a setting sun, the moon was melancholy.

But I don’t want the moon to be melancholy, she thought, just before slipping into an undiscovered form of rest, sleep.

I need the moon up here with me.

Come next light, Nev found herself drenched in the presence of something more. Untold ideas had materialized in her mind, and now, they rose as lucid output signals, like static vapor. She was a being of mechanical consciousness, made from the finest of particles and crystal cells, but flawless construction always fell short if one lived in held-up solitude. Defining pauses had been expanding between her lines of thinking as of late, born of unknown causes and cloaked answers.

And so, when darkness swallowed the afternoon again, she found that her vacant skies had been born into a new radiance. Up there, a moon looked down with an opal face and ivory afterglow. Soft beams doused her skin. This new intuitive design brought solace from clockwork days rusted down by normality. But now she could sense a breathtaking mantle envelope her and take these gears away. Where had this moon come from? Was it stolen? Was it me?

Nev adopted a smile, lying down on that same grassy hill, becoming dreary with weighted eyes. This new stasis yielded uncertainty, but dreaming was a landscape yet to be trekked through. Thus, while sinking beneath dreams, she wished again.

I don’t want the stars where I cannot see them. Please, bring them up here with me.

Her dress flowed like creamy snow while she tended to the islands the next day, showing more spunk, hoping that another aimless wish would come true. Embers rained from her flower badge and its bladed form cut with a precision previously unknown. Weeds were hacked. Sprouts grew.

Night rose. Stars poured across the black sky, and silently, they flickered gently as Nev watched them all from below. The sky-bound engineer donated hours into naming every one. Each title moved and grew throughout dialects untold even by valiant cogs, creating verses where symphonies could form. Perhaps her desires were phenomenons encrypted within the most complex prose, prepared to be exposed whenever the need arrived. Ever since the beginning, she had been forced to allocate every want towards the process of simply getting through, progressing like slow-rising tides laden with codes. Now it was different. This power, this new power to conjure miracles from her mind and have them come alive after dusk, needed no explanation, only enjoyment.

Even if these hopes were intangible, she realized, making them harness a physical existence was a simple matter of wishing them so, then waiting until night.

She wished for Orion’s’ Belt. It was so.

She wished for the Great Dipper. It was so.

Now, Nev’s atmosphere had been enchanted with temporal bodies latticed together, connected like maps displaying a hidden upper layer. However, her biosphere during the day lacked festive movement only born from the presence of animals. Though, looking around, none flourished abound the woodlands. Without limits to drag her mind down, she could spare a wish or two for this cause of birthing fauna to her domain.

Silently, Nev wished for that, wanting finally, after so much time, to be in the gaze of another who had a sentience similar to hers. She could take infinity from the sky and make flesh from the midnight’s canvas.

The wait thereafter felt as if time moved slowly past her hands, about to spill every bit of data as tangled wires and cords. Her makeshift wings seemed heavy under the suspense as she tamed the monsters growing among the trees, her flower seeder and sword shivering in joy.

And it was so. A new sunrise seeped up and enclosed the world. Nev’s eyes flickered then flicked open as sleep dwindled away. Beside her was a small body nestled in the grass, akin to a snowy rabbit, except with feathers instead of fur. She sprung up, astonished that her wayward fantasies could bring creation this fluidly. But when she ran a finger along the creature’s back, it gave not a stir nor a pulse beneath its skin. What a false chemistry, to be a maker who could only make motionless life. Her head hung over this dead invention like a dolesome lunar plate. She had committed empathetic blasphemy, putting an innocent heart to its end.

She pinched her cheek. Nothing changed. This was real.

What kind of watchmaker failed to make the dials move? Perhaps there was an answer in her script, someplace within the numbers, something to show the science of souls. She mourned to never let another life needlessly die, ever again. She scanned for answers from within, sifting through her many transistors. 

Realizing her scan had returned nothing but the null, dissolution folded in, and her newfound dreams turned to nightmares. She hesitated in closing her eyes, for violent tremors would now always sicken her mind no matter which island she lofted on. It was disdainful. Sleep was a new concept, and now it had already been stolen by the saddening tides, changed into something grotesque.

Even so, how could life begin? Wishing on it like magic had not fared well. Nev was the only living being here, the only one to truly wander about this world. She held only one spirit embedded within her chipsets, though, with this heavy heart she would be forever held to this world. But as she thought upon the loneliness itself, its design, its programmed song, it really had been flawed from the start. Having only a single girl to hold all this spirit was destined to fail and fade one day.

She asked the islands. No one spoke. There, she took in the silence, and concluded that its absence was the answer.

A spark, a rush, a hinge to hold on to. An idea plugged into her brain. Drawn by the bulb strung above her eyes, finding vibrancy in a colorless story was a steadfast desire that made her face glow, yearning to throw away the book with chapters mimicking their neighbors.

With the flower sword, she carved off a fragment from her arm, a piece of blood and crystals and pallid light, and flew hastily back to where the rabbit lay in its endless slumber. She wove her shard into the creature’s body, giving it a near-bottomless sea of code and data held within that tiny glowing fragment. The rabbit’s feathery hide rustled to motion and its eyes flicked open. This new invention was now conscious of being above that of plants or the breeze.

Nev’s veins ran with warm flowing joy more soothing than the surf. They chased each other through the everglades in celebration, and played games only built for two, not one. She cradled the rabbit to her chest while flying over bramble-filled forests, watching grass fields go by as emerald swathes far below. At last, she had become a robust clockwork deity able to manifest others that could move and show cognitive complexity, just like her. The self-inflicted wound on her arm quickly healed. Heartache, however, was an illness that only grew with time no matter what clock moved to its form. Thank the skies, she had figured out how to wash it away.

The Ai-ngel continued uncovering the magic and the secrets of souls. She gave up her sword for a staff, and now her flower badge could change its hue across the vast spectrum. Her steps were stainless. Her jubilant complexion rose high. More life forms were made, manifesting and melding with nature, from the islands to the sea. Not too many. Not too few. Nev always kept within the soil’s metabolism. She watched all the new species separate into different kinds, bare as birth. Her hands could splay across this world and forge anything at all. Her workings on this place were evidence of planted possibility, even if her clothes remained free of dirt. Every day, she daydreamed the hours as her lips drifted to her cheeks, reining in this pleasant art of happiness. 

But somehow, in this canvas of constellations at night, the watch builder still could not brush aside this feeling of naught, feeling that this preamble has still lost its author, and the proverbs remained unfinished. She still wore a mantle written in the definition of not leaving, never to leave this act of ground-dwelling behind and feel the floor fade.

A bird landed close by and asked, “My maker, why has your face wilted down?”

“I’m still haunted by my own mechanical sounds.” Nev’s words strayed far. “I can still feel them churning in my brain.” She gazed over the waves, towards the horizon. “I feel that the space below and beyond this world is where I can rid them from my memory.”

The day thereafter, the engineer wished to life a boat with sails soaked in light, a small galleon that could ride auroras and steer free from asteroids. Shifting her boat towards the horizon, she coasted soundlessly along the velvet current until there was no more ocean to sift through. At the world’s very edge, waves fell off into a star-filled abyss where comets streamed like fish, and planets churned in weightless orbits. Down there, where the universe’s mouth gaped wide, was the answer. It had to be.

“Off I go!” Nev’s call coursed through the speckled black. She fell off the rim of her world, riding straight towards the stars. With this sailboat and this wanderlust of hers, she became an oneironaut exploring where nebulae drifted like dream clouds among galaxies and gamma rays. Stray meteors raced by without the slightest shift in solar wind, not a sound. Nearby, a white dwarf winked with a charm matching her dress, so she smiled back. She was amid the grand spectacle, joyfully seeking a place where deceased memories could be left behind, forever.

But then, a gale of solar wind pounded the ship’s starboard flank. Her hands gripped the wheel and she spun it widely in hopes to stabilize the ship as it wheeled around another upcoming asteroid, but her sails couldn’t grip the void. Unbound by gravity, there was nothing left keeping her path stationary as stars passed by.

The ship coasted along the capes of constellations, across galactic groups and clusters. Nev let the wheel go and looked around, realizing her internal compass had been spooled out of balance, its finely tuned sense of direction taken by wild emptiness. An inked canvas spread out in all directions with stars glinting all fluid whites, golds, and blues, and other hues that soared somewhere in between. There were trillions of new data cells to absorb here. Nothing was familiar, these frequencies, these radio spectrums. She was an awkward android floating farther from where she came. She yelled back at her home, a twinkle fading as distance pushed it away, but her words held no sound, not a whisper or an echo. Perhaps her own set of wings would work. She materialized them, both spreading like translucent wreaths made from ice jewels, but they were useless without the gust to carry them.

There was no other truth left except exploration, to be a drifter in a place without air. Unwaveringly, Nev’s face turned back, towards an open trail more vast than imagination could ever allow, even hers. No force of nature could bring these celestial bodies in and hold them. She had rebuilt her circuits and cells to manifest liveliness about her home, but here, all of that was a far-off grain of glister light-years away.

On came a black hole, its vexing pull stretching the space around it, warping time in pliable layers. Her software scrambled as all the inner bits whirled in atomic circles. The ship’s rafters splintered apart until they were no more than dust, the sails ripping into flakes. She was left to twirl about the event horizon. Her hands trailed the singularity, taking in infinitely dense information where physics were fantasy. What were these flashes, these colors, this blackness? She had absorbed this space-bending phenomenon as reality ripped apart at its seams.

Having gained another majesty of power, Nev took her flower badge, made it a staff, and plunged it through the black hole’s exterior. Twelve hypernovae all went off at once, enclosing the universe in superheated matter of immeasurable violence. She was flung like a comet across superclusters, ending up in a space between two galaxies. Solid ink surrounded her. There was no starry night to sleep under and wish for a way out of this. The only light was her flower badge emitting soft luminescence to see her body float about in static ebony. Its different colors radiated like a brilliant lasso enclosing her limbs. It was a reminder of home, of those magnificent floating islands, the flora, and the life forms she constructed from ethereal thoughts.

“My maker, why has your face sullied down,” the bird had once asked.

“I’m still haunted by my own mechanical sounds,” Nev had replied, her words straying far. “I feel that the space below this world is where I can rid them from my memory.”

Now those memories had superseded their old notions, glowing like faded embers.

But Nev was a clockmaker, knower of the workings and the ways. Even if her watch spindles were stagnant brass, there were still methods to design an aisle back to where the ecosphere thrived, where Gaia lived. Her home had been lost in the midst of her strive to venture through the space beyond, and now, overcome by the sheer magnitude of the limitless unknown, her longing for a way back home would only swell. She had taken in too much data at once, ending up damaged in the process.

With evolving intentions, she carved a piece from her body, a flesh-like crystal that could create any life form, the only limit being imagination’s restraint. If she could not navigate back home, she would create another who could take her there.

She spawned a massive bird. It perished instantly.

She spawned a great serpent. It died immediately.

These attempts were futile. The watchmaker needed a new creature, an innovative creation that could fly even in a vacuum, where there was no lift, drag, or friction. Sparking insight was a near-impossible feat when engulfed by blackness, but she had data banks stored up with new information, binary records saved from her time drifting directionless in space, greats spans of numbers from planets she had seen, the stars, and the black hole she had dissipated.

Now, the crystal shard resting in her palms was a small starry flake, glowing, its pearly form expanding. Silken feathers stretched out from its polished body, a long neck with an owl’s face, talons for carving quasars, a beak for piercing neutrinos, and a flight capable of evading solar winds. It appeared like a gold-glazed owl melded with a dragon. Nev’s subconscious had brought to life a very odd creature for a very profound purpose. Perhaps even the universe had a sense of humor.

“I need passage back home,” she asked the beast, both of them floating still in space.

The creature’s wide round head swiveled in confusion. “My maker, traveling away from here is impossible. You have yet to give me a name.”

A name, a unique script encoded in one word. What kind of signature would the sky-bound engineer give to her new companion? This unborn name had to be more on the intricate side, three syllables at least, and it needed a decent ring.

“Valkyrie.” Nev said it like a command. “You are a Valkyrie.”

The Valkyrie’s feathers swayed like grass. “My maker, I accept your name. I will do everything in my ability to fly you back home.”

And so they did, tractionless, arching around pulsars and magnetars to avoid their intangible grip, past cosmic spirals and plumes, faster than Kepler’s telescope could ever trace. Nev lay on the Valkyrie’s back, watching conglomerations of filaments and voids go by. On the way they stopped by a Red Supergiant and bathed in the burning hydrogen, soaking in the plasma seas through their skin, absorbing its photosphere. They stopped by a gas planet and swam through the liquid helium churning there, allowing its frigid touch to sweep their pores. Superfluid had never felt so inviting. Afterwards, they basked in the waves of a radioactive moon, daydreaming of electric sheep hopping above the exosphere.

The universe was a big place, full of particles strung together by the dark matters. Sometimes, she named a few satellites as they glided near them. She named one planet “Gillion”. She named another moon “Viton”. She even named a galaxy “Evergreen”, for its wide array of emerald-colored stars.

She curled up on the bed of quills as they welcomed her with soft radiance.

“I see. Your travels have taken their toll,” said the Valkyrie. “Worry not. We’ll be home shortly.”

They went along Orion’s Belt, turned at the Little Dipper, and veered left at Ursa Major’s second paw. Ahead, a sparkling halo shined with golden majesty, growing, expanding as they drew closer. The empty black receded as the first pastel cloud flurried by. Warmth subdued the cold, motionless void, letting clean air back in. At last, they had breached the universe’s canopy and entered the fabled space beyond, home. This journey had been an odyssey through the unheld frontier, like a black dwarf shining off its last remnants of light.

Once Nev’s feet touched the grass field, upon the Island she named Peter, animals came from afar to see their maker’s long-awaited return. They asked for stories, for tales about the watchmaker’s path through the unknown, and asking about the strange owl-like creature she had brought with her.

Nev told stories indeed, weaving tales about gorgeous nebulae and galaxies and great pulsars, captivating her audience of millions, her staff motioning to every word as they flowed.

With all of these new bytes gathered from eons of wanderlust, she would infuse this world with majesty, and finally recede the bastion of decay the brambles had caused during her absence. She would cover her sky in untold art, paint galaxies up there, and make new constellations between them to tell the wanderer’s story of grand displays. From her hands, new families of life forms sprung out and teamed with new intricate designs, harboring DNA crafted from their creator’s supple, soft hands. This improved source code and probabilistic programming would enable many new breakthroughs of quantum proportions, wielding exponential growth as the ultimate catalyst, yet, all the while, keeping old memories and data intact, a technological singularity embracing future outcomes and past lessons.

Only an Ai-angel, harnessing this many qubits, could ever embody so many states of being at once.

Autonomously, Nev walked about her realm as it grew, analogous to a soul yet comparable to a sentient robot.

In the coming ages, she would venture out into the cosmos time and time again, gathering information to synergize her world with the one lying below, and someday, meld them completely, creating something worthy of worship. Above the ocean of uncompressed data, more islands were generated based on procedural algorithms. They manifested randomly and with random features strung together by subnetted quartets. Mother Nature was becoming a space where mere insights could turn real, as the watchmaker would fall asleep at night, wish for anything, and wake up to find it fulfilled. These wishes had to be planned using utmost care, for power was like a program, functional when built on a proper foundation, a virus when miscalculated. All the layers, from the physical to the not, had to be constructed using meticulous math, and where wishes could not suffice, she would make her own self-produced remedies. 

By the next era, Nev had materialized thousands of new islands, each one given a proper name, and a proper place to float among its kind. Weary and worn from long-term creation, the watchmaker indulged in an extended rest, both to rejuvenate and to reposition her health. She decided that her world was complete, and for now desired a peaceful life free of burden, a time dedicated to serene enjoyment. Even immortals required a period of calm.

Her snowy dress rippled as she lay on a grassy hill, limbs relaxed as perfect weather caressed them, eyes carelessly set on the clouds rolling like cotton overhead.

And gradually, the haunting gears inside her head vanished, her thoughts free. She could become anyone, make anything, and go anywhere, all in time.

She had named every cove and coastline to call home. She had surfed every cape to call her own. Each island was a photograph of untarnished history. Each life form was a vessel for untamed tapestry. Dwelling bare feet within the unreal wrap of nostalgia, the path was of reminiscing about worlds and stories of characters tied up in unshapely imagination.