“Shall we dance along the ceiling today?” whispered Lyra, her words twinkling like distant stars.
Nor understood her not through sound, but through the ripples on the surface of their shared cosmic pool. He nodded, a symmetrical echo vibrating through the void.
It was here that time spaced itself out thinly, allowing each moment to stretch into eternity. Conversations in the infinirealm seldom emptied themselves, but filled the listener to the brim.
A creature, part thought and part shade, visualized a doorway swirling with colors unnamed. It spoke a paradox: “Open always opens. Close does not touch close.”
In this endless dialogue, gravity was a stranger to predictable behavior. Dylandra laughed, floating past an upwards-turned horizon. “I perceive the fall of ascent,” she declared.