A thousand paper cranes.
Maybe it’s a pointless, idiotic endeavour that stemmed from a children’s tale that she herself had watched written on old parchment. Foolish and irrational, absolutely useless in the long run. Probably something the cryptid time traveler would mock and joke upon leaving for her next time adventure.
Kiara keeps folding.
Amelia hums the beginning an unfinished symphony, watching the borealis of intertwined thread overcast the ancient willow tree outside her windowsill.