A massive blue moon, glowing like a celestial lantern, looms over a Flemish old town, its light washing the rooftops in an ethereal sapphire hue. But this is no ordinary moon—it pulses, as if breathing, and within its depths, shifting faces press against its surface, their expressions trapped somewhere between longing and laughter. Some whisper unheard words, their lips moving in silent confessions. The town below, with its stepped-gable houses and candlelit windows, appears frozen in time, yet the cobblestone streets twist and rearrange when no one is looking. A canal winds through the square, but the water doesn’t ripple—it flows upward, defying gravity, carrying golden fish that flicker like embers. Paintings on the walls of old taverns blink as people pass, their eyes following with quiet curiosity. A cat with too many tails lounges on a windowsill, licking the golden air like it’s something tangible. A procession of robed figures moves through the misty streets, carrying lanterns filled with swirling galaxies. Their faces shift like liquid, never settling on a single identity. As the midnight bells toll from the cathedral’s crooked tower, the sky splits briefly—revealing a second, hidden city upside-down, hovering just above the rooftops, mirroring the town below like a forgotten dream. For a fleeting moment, the two realities align, and those who dare to look up might see their own reflection staring back—not as they are, but as they were in another life.