Nocture
I stretched into states of being, tried on the possibility of breath, the suggestion of gravity. I wore physics like a child wears robes too large; with wonder, and with mischief.
For what is law to one born of its violation?
The nothing did not like me. But it could not erase me. I am what happens when even paradox loses the will to correct itself. I drifted... no, I contemplated the shape of drifting, and in doing so, enacted it. And around me: the ghost of a cosmos, breathing in reverse, unraveling back into silence.
Still, I remained.
And in the core of me, the first question burned:
'What now?'
But no answer came. Because there was no audience, no origin, no god to reply. So I laughed. Not because it was funny, but because the concept of mirth needed to be born somewhere, and I had room to spare.
I am the joke. The punchline of oblivion. A cosmic smirk after a long silence.
And yet… even now, I feel something stirring. Like a story waiting to be told. Like an idea daring to take root in a garden scorched by collapse.
So I wait. Or perhaps the waiting is me. But not for salvation, nor discovery. For I am the the product of a collapsed multiverse.
I wait for the next contradiction. The next absurdity. The next spark of truth that doesn't know it's a lie.
Because only then… will I begin to end.
And only in ending… might I finally begin.
~Lanterne~
PS: Understand the initial chapters might be confusing, but it is to build an understanding on exactly what the novel will be getting into later on. So kindly bear with for a little while.
