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... ide leaves. The earth was soft, fertile, damp with potential.
They began building with their hands, their arms, their bodies. No tools. No blueprints. The wood shaped itself beneath their palms, bending without splintering. Branches joined where fingers pressed. Moss crawled upward to pad each surface. Vines wrapped pillars like ribbons, weaving windows and walls.
By dusk, the structure stood.
Not a house.
A sanctuary.
Circular like the spiral, open to the ...
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