But the chosen ones—the ones the well truly remembers—they lower nothing. They simply kneel, press their ear to the cool stone, and listen to the deep, slow turning of all the lives they might have lived.
The well does not give answers. It gives echoes. And once you have heard yours, you carry it like a second heartbeat, soft and certain, until the day you return—not to ask again, but to become part of the water. the chosen well of souls
And when you drink? You do not quench thirst. You inherit a question: What will you lower into me? But the chosen ones—the ones the well truly