On one side, a wall of people; on the other, a wall of stones—caught, as it were, "between a rock and a hard place," a stage emerges. In this enchanted valley, a miniature performance unfolds, crafted to fit vast spaces. It takes the form of a fable, the result of an accumulation of many tales—some of love, others of war, some of travel, others of beasts. These are weapon-tales that ensure the survival of their storyteller, in a duel between imagination and a petrified heart. They are lament-tales that honor the absent, in a duel between life and death, captivity and freedom, vice and virtue, reality and desire.

In this architecture of stone-upon-stone and person-upon-person, an imaginary mirror appears. An artifact of multiplication, projection, alienation, and enchantment that, night after night, transforms the stage into an onion.

Layer by layer, wrapped in scents and invisible splashes, the "storytelling mouth" offers itself to both sword and wall, adding one more tale to the infinity of tales.