Shallow waters surround me, thinly dampening the soles of my feet with its cold touch. Lightning crashes on a solid canvas of blue, pale and lifeless.

This world I have been brought to—is, somehow, a world I have been living in for a _very_ long time.

My feet slowly wade the waters, headed towards the endless horizon where the buzz of electricity roars the loudest.

I know not where I am going, nor why I am headed there. All I know is that this is my path, my direction.

My soul knows this place like the back of my hand, the ceiling of my hospital room. It is only my eyes that have never bore witness and my ears that have never heard. It is my tongue that has never tasted, my nose that has never smelled, and my hands that have never felt.

To run would be to deprive myself of enlightenment. The scenery that rests in front of me, behind me, above me, below me, and beside me, are all flowers that bloom with the truth—

—the truth that the world was beautiful, but I will never be able to experience anything but an eidolon of it.