Therapy Bits

The voices had been calling to her for some time, whispering fragments of an ancient story. She followed them through the forest, stepping over the debris of fallen branches and shattered stone.

In the clearing stood a single present—a small wooden box tied with silver twine. When she opened it, light spilled out, and the air seemed to travel backward. The glow began to lead her toward a row of weathered doors, each carved with curling vines like living roots.

She remembered the prophecy her grandmother once told her: “The last door hides the truth you seek, but the first hides yourself.”

With trembling hands, she reached for the last door. Inside, a tarnished mirror reflected not her face, but the woman she was meant to become—standing tall, fearless, and holding the same box, centuries from now.

Wordle 718 « The Sunday Whirl