Somewhere past Paradise.
Was a room that should not be.
A room the universe has agreed to pretend never existed... it was purple of internal haemorrhage stretched across light-years and of galaxies strangling themselves with their own arms until the spiral arms snap like brittle bone.
The purple that existed before light learned cowardice—when the void still sat in perfect dark.
Purple mist moved through the chamber like blood moving through veins that had long since forgotten warmth.
Thick. Slow. Deliberate.
It curled along walls of stone, pooling in the low places the way grief pools in the hollows. Rising and falling in rhythms that mocked every living pulse that ever dared exist—slow inhalations that took centuries.
And in the center—
A bed.
No. Calling it a bed was blasphemy spoken in a child's voice.
