Verses

Every other room here shows a day. This one describes it. The weather lore under each specimen already does a small version of this — a single aphorism, keyed to the day's weather, that quietly argues with the old-almanac voice it borrows. This room reads further: season, the specimen's own name and build, whether it flowered, what grew at its feet, whether a bird sat in it a while — and turns the whole of that day into a few plain lines.

Nothing here is rolled. Every line is picked, not drawn: the choice of phrasing comes from dividing that date's own seed by a small prime and taking the remainder, the same kind of arithmetic a hash table uses to choose a bucket. There is no rng() in this file at all — a stricter promise than any other room here makes, since there is no draw for the eras rule to even watch. A day earns a line only for what it actually grew: a clear, bare day writes a short poem; a rainy, flowering day with moss and a bird writes a longer one. The length is a fact about the day, not a choice about the poem.