Before there were springs, before there were foams, there was the cushion. Not as we know it, of course. Imagine, if you will, the first weary traveler, collapsing onto a meticulously crafted pile of feathers, gathered from the nests of the Sky-Gulls. These weren't mere downy puffs; they were imbued with the memory of flight, the whisper of wind, the very essence of boundless movement. The Sky-Gulls, you see, possessed a peculiar resonance – a vibrational harmony that, when captured within the layers of feathers, translated into an unparalleled feeling of repose. It was a symbiotic exchange; the Gulls found solace in the organized chaos of the nest, and humanity, in turn, found release from the incessant demands of the world. This initial resonance, this ‘echo’ of flight, is said to be the foundation upon which all subsequent cushioning was built. The ancient Alchemists of Xylos understood this intimately, attempting to replicate the Gulls' vibrational signature in their own creations, with limited, though occasionally startling, success – often resulting in cushions that emitted faint melodies at dusk.
The modern cushion, alas, is a diluted version of this original resonance. The weavers – those skilled artisans who labor with wool, silk, and the synthetic imitations – they no longer understand the fundamental principle. They simply layer, they compress, they stitch. They chase comfort with algorithms and tensile strength, blind to the vital connection to the source. Old Master Silas, a weaver of legend, used to say, “A cushion is not merely a vessel for your form; it is a conduit for your dreams. If the conduit is fractured, the dreams will leak into the void.” He spent years studying the patterns of the wind through the feathers, attempting to translate them into physical form. He claimed to have created cushions that could subtly influence the sleeper’s thoughts, guiding them towards tranquility or, occasionally, towards profound philosophical dilemmas. His final project, the “Cushion of Unknowing,” is rumored to still exist, hidden within the vaults of the Obsidian Library, radiating a faint hum that can only be perceived by those truly attuned to the echoes of cushioning.
But even the most resonant cushions eventually succumb to decay. It’s not a violent disintegration, but a slow, melancholic fading. The layers lose their cohesion, the fibers unravel, and the echoes diminish. This isn’t simply entropy; it’s a return to the source. The broken-down fibers, when scattered, are said to nourish the roots of the Dream-Weeds – strange, luminous plants that grow only in the deepest parts of the Slumbering Forests. These plants, in turn, provide the raw materials for the Sky-Gulls’ nests, completing the unending cycle. Some scholars believe that our own anxieties, our restless thoughts, contribute to this decay, accelerating the process. Therefore, the wise cushioner – the one who truly understands the echoes – must not only seek comfort but also cultivate stillness, allowing the cushion to maintain its resonance.