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She dreams beneath a tree whose leaves are pure gold and whose roots glisten with silver veins. At the trunk sits Metatron, the celestial scribe, inscribing every breath of creation into bark that glows. The doctrine is not read — it is absorbed into the soul.
In a mystical realm, a dreamer rests under a radiant tree of gold leaves and silver roots. Metatron, the celestial scribe, etches the essence of creation into its glowing bark, enriching the soul.