Chant of the Past

Old memories faded like smoke. One figure gently traced the torn pages in recollection, whispering the myriad scenes of past New Bloom Festivals, telling them to Her. What had once been countless patterns of life in the mortal world were now rendered as the hundred trades of the Chromafaces. They read them in innocence, unaware of how much sorrow and joy each page carried, or how vividly it preserved the brilliance of years long gone.