Crash Landing
The world quivered and writhed, dark in the way that oil is dark.
Dark in the way that the outside of the universe is dark, ravenously empty, as it waits for the light.
Shimmering with the un-light of places and times and sensations. Sparkling black on black where for just a moment the darkness imagined that it was full.
A layered, clinging dark.
A living darkness, so wrapped and twisted upon itself and everything that the calm of nothingness would have seemed a paradise compared to the chaos.
It was not an evil darkness. Nor a good.
A darkness that simply was... in between the places that were.
Kir was like light, trapped in the sheen of ancient blood. The blood of realities, pulsing and twisting, each its own heart and its own cell.
Its own mouth.
Each a universe of grinding, gnashing, shredding teeth like shards of crystal splitting and drenching and masticating nothing into endless finite somethings.