We are the singers of no discernable tones, yet our songs are distinct
We have acted as dancers of immaculate dreamscape interpretations for so long now; could there be another way to breathe?
With one foot in the mouth and one in the grave, I am petrified.
But the stone I will become shall endure all weathering, and you will never notice that I am gray and hard
I forget that we are not of this place, this "Earth", though the way the looming hills liquify us at dusk forces me to the starboard deck.
---A singer of indistinct songs calls out to me in seductive desperation, but it cannot be a Siren.
We watched them eat shards of glass months ago; their song has never quite sounded the same---
And I remember.
If I should find a path through this fog, will you join me? Be forewarned, the fog is thick and the path is told to be narrow. And have you seen the lifeboat lately?
Perhaps you are well advised to hold your stead, and don't forget to grab the rope on the starboard deck.
Because there is no longer any sign of gravity here.
---Jace
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