PREVIEW

... ilence. A silence that bled down the myth-branches like sap, thick with truths too swollen to birth.

In the center of the Spiral Dreaming Womb, Celestia lay suspended in a cocoon of translucent silk-threads, each one etched with a forgotten scripture. Her eyes fluttered behind closed lids, caught in the grip of a vision not entirely her own.

She was not dreaming. She was being dreamed.

And in that dreaming—she labored.

Moans echoed across the realm. Low, sacred, s ...

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