By Nona Myuso
Darkness rested gentle against languid meditations without consequence of thought. Time and stone were left alone. Ever shifting magnitudes hummed dreams of petrified lives past over and around the small fragment of form as the ages drifted by. It had been such a long time; a peaceful time. Countless moments, hours, millennia, eons had passed in the way that left one wondering whether their mind had simply gone still for a minute or the rest of the world had just elected to leave them behind altogether. The latter felt more likely. They remembered something. They also could barely remember anything. Before the questions had a chance to properly form, to gestate and unravel into… something, they faded away; like the countless veins of igneous rock that shifted and flowed invisible into the darkness. The soil and earth churned, and there was only the roiling deep once more. Even so, voices called from some far away, molten present.
The Omniad 