Liora wandered through a misted valley where the fog shimmered with colours that seemed to respond to her touch. As she reached out, she realised that each wisp carried a bias — subtle inclinations shaping which flowers might bloom, which streams might shift, which paths might open.
No shape was forced. The fog simply tilted the possibilities, favouring some over others without prescribing outcomes. Liora understood that she, too, was part of this dance: her presence became a local perspective, a small act of individuation in the valley of readiness.
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