In the quiet town of Elmsworth, nestled between two hills that seemed to lean toward each other like old friends whispering secrets, there was a place known only as The Hollow. It wasn’t marked on any map, and few dared to speak of it. Those who did, always with hushed voices and wary glances, claimed that if you walked the right path at the right time, you could step into another world. Lena had never believed in such things. She was a practical woman, a librarian who found comfort in the order of books and the rhythm of her daily routine. But when she stumbled upon an old journal in the attic of her late grandmother’s house, something changed. The journal belonged to a woman named Eleanor, who had lived in Elmsworth over a century ago. Inside were sketches of strange symbols, notes about “the door between worlds,” and a single line that sent a shiver down Lena’s spine: *“It opens when the moon is high and the wind sings through the pines.”* Curiosity got the better of her. On the night of the full moon, Lena packed a small bag and set out alone. The path to The Hollow was overgrown, the trees leaning so close together that they formed a tunnel of shadow and light. As she walked, the air grew colder, and the sound of the wind changed—no longer just a breeze, but a soft, mournful song that seemed to echo from everywhere and nowhere at once. At the heart of the forest, she found it: a circle of standing stones, worn and moss-covered, with a gap in the center where the earth had been disturbed. A faint glow pulsed from the ground, as if the earth itself was breathing. Lena hesitated, then stepped forward. The moment her foot touched the soil, the world around her shifted. The trees were gone. In their place stood a city of glass towers, reflecting the moonlight in unnatural colors. The sky was a deep violet, and the stars moved in patterns that didn’t make sense. People walked the streets, dressed in clothes that seemed both ancient and futuristic, their faces expressionless, their eyes glowing faintly. Lena felt a pull, as if the air itself was urging her forward. She wandered through the city, trying to understand what she was seeing. There were no signs of danger, no screams or shadows. Just a strange, silent beauty. A man in a long coat approached her, his face calm but unreadable. “You are not from here,” he said, not asking, but stating. Lena nodded. He led her to a building that looked like a library, though the books had no titles and the pages turned themselves. He told her that this world was a reflection, a version of Elmsworth where choices had taken different paths. Some people had made different decisions, leading to lives unrecognizable to those in the original world. “But not all of us choose,” he added. “Some are pulled here by forces we do not understand.” As Lena listened, she began to feel a strange connection to the place. It was as if she had always belonged here, even though she had never been. When she returned to her own world, she found the journal gone, and the path to The Hollow had vanished. No one else remembered the place, and the townspeople spoke of it only in whispers. But Lena couldn’t forget. Every night, she dreamed of the city of glass, of the man in the coat, of the way the wind sang through the pines. And sometimes, when she closed her eyes, she felt the pull again, as if the door was still open, waiting for her to step through once more. Was she truly from this world, or had she always been meant to belong to the other? And if she had chosen to stay, would she ever return?