facing inwards, i've found myself trying and begging to make things make sense. i've had to search through a digital dimension, the Other World. the palace constructed, vaulted halls ruined, is made toxic by the pulsing, electric blue ateries. it's all just hardware now, you know. you can't see shit in the dark. i arrive at the site of the curse, not 3 months before it appears on earth. not 3 months before things are changed forever. a saint's egg forms, briefly healed, submerged in water before it's left out to dry for a thousand years. a large dark cloud hovers above the palaces. dust has settled, battle lines drawn. the curse is here now, and it's not leaving. i have left my isolation, my secluded tomb, and have found a part of myself i didn't know existed. the goodness, a man with brown hair. the cloud is gone. so much is gone. the evil season begins. it's clear, but the curse remains. for the first time in a very long time, we can see the full body of the curse. the shadow of the summer will stretch out forever after this, and i will chase a feeling that i felt once. fortune is forever ruined. nothing is real. we're living in a hypergod's deathbed dream and none of this matters. a great, black obsidian knife cuts the world in two. the darkness threatens me, the night is here. i briefly travel to the world of water and i feel, for once, free. i feel myself suspended for a thousand years before the clock moves forward even once. the culture changes downwards, and keeps spiraling, graphics are forever ruined. i feel myself stand above an altar with a knife pointed at my heart and before i can make a descion, the world around me completely collapses into a pinprick. i don't realize i'm in a dream til it's too late, until i've let all the fog inside. the year is 2026. eschaton. isometric lines make up the remains of the dream. long drawn out etchings make up what's left of the world, but it's not hopeless. potentiality remains, and it stretches out infintely, in every direction. in every direction, there's glass and darkness and bytes left over. the dust in my hands is how i will reconstitute the world. there is truth in the making. the body of the curse is visible now, strike with an obisdian blade, an invisible knife, we are the knights, the storm god, devoted, knowing that all we have is each other.