39

The World blew apart into thousands of millions of pinpricks of light. The sound of its shattering like the wails of grieving widows and the too-wet squishy sound of skin tearing. Each breath in and out was the soft chiming of bells too small to grace a Temple but large enough to adorn thick hair.

Light flickered and danced, watery and blurred at the edges, distant and far too close. The subvocal hum of Existence itself was a physical thing that left no inch of oh-so-sensitive skin untouched.

And over it all was the sweet melody of Silence.

Where am I?

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