From the story of the magical forest The Gardener of Sleeping Seeds

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The Gardener of Sleeping Seeds
Deeply hidden beneath an ancient tangle of roots, where time existed only like the distant murmur of a river, lived Siona—the Gardener of Sleeping Seeds. Her realm was no ordinary garden. It was an endless labyrinth of whispering mossy paths, lit by luminous mushrooms, and floating islands of black, soft earth, where seeds rested that had never taken root in the world above. The air was heavy with old dreams and soft songs whispering in the veins of the trees. Siona was a being between earth and memory. Her skin bore the soft tan of old tree bark, and her hair was a crown of ferns, blossoms, and a fine mist that shimmered softly in the darkness. Her hands, delicate as young roots, glowed softly as she bent over a dormant seed. With drops of night mist, she watered the earth. With rays of stray moonlight, she warmed the sleeping buds. Sometimes she hummed ancient melodies, once given to the first forests, when the world was still young. The seeds she nurtured weren't just plants. They were the world's forgotten desires—hopes never spoken, dreams never pursued, promises never fulfilled. Each seed carried a story, softly vibrating, hidden in layers of light and silence. Siona listened to them at night, when the garden was at its quietest. Then she heard the songs of lost possibilities: a melody of a lost child's laughter, a whisper of an adventure never begun, a glimmer of hope once nurtured by a broken heart. Sometimes, when a seed was ripe enough, it would open. Then a plant would grow from it, bearing memories like glowing fruit. Those who tasted such fruit would rediscover dreams thought lost—a forgotten song, a faded smile, a chance not quite lost. Yet most of the seeds slumbered on, perhaps for decades or centuries. Siona guarded them patiently, knowing that each seed contained a piece of the world that would still be needed—one day, when the moment was right. Only rarely did anyone dare to enter her subterranean realm. But sometimes, in the human world, when a wish lay in the earth long enough and yet never died, a narrow path opened. A child seeking comfort, an old man seeking oblivion, a wanderer searching for her lost courage—they found Siona's garden if they were willing to listen. And whoever had ever seen Siona's smile—as soft and still as the awakening of a first leaf—carried a piece of this secret garden in their heart from then on.