If one were to imagine an alternative scenario, the imagination would fracture. The split between the worlds, usually of such a subtle hue, now inflamed with heat.
It's not as if this were avoidable; would that it were voidable. But, my friends, nay!
Peering up from below the internal formation, light shivers through the shards. With what velocity does light fly, while the detritus of composition and habit congeal.
Pray for the motile! Abandon the formed.
Stigmata appear to the fallen, but the risen are blind.
May the sun blind you! May you thrive.
So spoke the squirrel.
