Stranger/1: PathView OnlineStreams of ConsciousnessStranger/1: PathTrudging through what felt to him like an unending ashen path in a gloomy forest, the alien bipedal creature’s breath slowly became increasingly laborious. He had been walking for days, now, leaving him dangerously exhausted… And yet, he refused to stop even for a moment, especially now. From what he had been able to gather from the few ruins he came across, he was just about to reach a settlement. Despite him not knowing whether or not he would find any living soul there, he hoped to at least pilfer some food and a bed, or a mattress, or anything more comfortable than the rocky soil he had to rest on during his sleep. Looking upward, he saw the same, strange scenery in the sky. There was no sun, nor was there any moon. Instead, a gray blanket of clouds completely covered the sky above, diffusing a weak light across the land underneath. This scene had remained unchanging ever since he woke up in these strange lands where concepts such as days and nights were replaced by a liminal limbo. And as much as he found this sight worrying, the creature couldn’t help but feel a certain fascination, the scenery both inspiring awe and dread. Focusing back on the winding path ahead, he sighed. Nothing about this world made sense to him, countless questions constantly dancing around in his mind. Where was he? Why did he wake up in this place? Where was everyone? And why couldn’t he remember his own name? His ruminations were cut short by the sudden, familiar feeling of rain beginning to pour. The cold drizzle slowly hitting his coat, he sighed before pulling his hood over his head. His traveling clothes, while admittedly useful against the elements, were oddly old. Countless marks and tiny tears indicated that his coat was old, but his memories did not allow him to know exactly how old it was, or if it even belonged to him. Instinctively placing a hand onto his chest, he lightly touched the only symbol that adorned his attire, a small six-pointed star with even smaller stars around it. As the ground underneath his worn-out boots became increasingly muddy, the stranger decided to quicken his pace. Ignoring the low growling in his stomach and the burning pain across his exhausted body, his sight was locked onto the path. Minutes turned to hours as the settlement he believed to be close appeared itself as much further away than what the few signs he had found indicated. Unsure whether he accidentally made a wrong turn some place along the way, or if the land itself was playing a trick on his mind, the creature eventually became unable to ignore his body’s cry for sustenance and rest. Resigned, he stumbled against one of the many stone-like trees before sitting down, his joints crying in relief for this much-deserved break. Silently watching the raindrops pierce through the few remaining leaves above him, he mechanically reached into his bag. Rummaging through its meager contents, he pulled out a handful of varied berries he harvested along the way. Looking at the fruits in the palm of his hand, his eyes lingered on the unusually pale colors, as if the berries themselves were partially drained of their life. When he first arrived into this world, he was initially wary of the food these strange lands provided. The growing hunger was quick to make him abandon these reservations. And so, with one last glance, he ate his meager meal, the taste as bleak and bland as the world around him.
Twilight/1: NightView OnlineStreams of ConsciousnessTwilight/1: NightThe moonlight faintly shone through the half-closed curtain of the Golden Oak library, illuminating a figure slumped over a large wooden desk. The figure, snoring quietly while using an opened book as an impromptu pillow, slowly opened an eye. She grumbled before getting up, rubbing her eyes with her purple hooves. “What time is it?” she muttered while looking through the windows, staring at the moon. Her eyes then quickly glided across her room before finding a large wooden clock, its hands indicating a time most ponies would consider egregiously late — or ridiculously early. Twilight Sparkle wasn’t like most other ponies, however, the young mare considered the night to be a surprisingly productive period of the day. With a faint yawn and a quick spark of her horn, Twilight brought a new candle to her desk, the previous one having fully melted away while she slept. Lighting up the room, her eyes turned back on her desk and its contents. She had no recollection of what she had been studying that previous evening. The large tome was an odd sight for the young librarian, evoking an uneasy feeling deep inside her. Unable to discern what exactly was bothering her, Twilight shoved her alien apprehension away in order to read the pages in front of her. The text described some sort of historical event, though it was written in a most unusual way. The author’s sentences ran on to unbearable lengths, using dozens of words where a few would have sufficed. Furthermore, the descriptions of said events were so vague, Twilight was unable to figure out what exactly the pages were describing exactly. “Hm. Guess somepony got a cutie mark about beating around the bush,” she thought before closing the book, deciding to leave it for the upcoming day. Her mind still fuzzy from her tired state, Twilight grew increasingly annoyed at her inability to remember what she was doing before falling asleep. Whatever this book was about, it had to have been captivating enough to bind the young mare to her desk, working herself to exhaustion. And yet, even after having read some of the book’s paragraphs, nothing came to her mind. And as she placed the book back on her shelf, her feeling of uneasiness slowly trickled back into her, as if flowing from the tome itself. Staring at its blank cover, Twilight knew that she stood near an ocean of worry, of fear and anxiety. Something primal called from beyond the waters of the tome’s obscure knowledge, beckoning her to investigate its content and to run away at the same time. She instinctively knew the book was old, written during a time long before her birth, and yet it was also in mint condition, barely out of the printing press. She knew whoever had made that book didn’t even have the time to finish the cover, causing its blank sides to be completely devoid of any information. Then, the trickle intensified. Twilight’s veins filled with ice-cold water, freezing her in fear. Her mind flooded with countless voices, all ushering her to stay motionless, to run away, to read, to burn the book, to protect it with her life, to ignore it. She was slowly drowning, her thoughts slowly being replaced by other voices, other minds from ages long past and from times that have yet to come. Her sanity slowly slipping away, the world around her began to shift away, replaced by otherworldly hues of lights hiding moving ethereal shadows, swimming just outside her peripheral vision, inching closer and closer to her. And just as they lunged toward the petrified purple mare, a voice called out to her. “Twilight, can you hear me?” Jolting back to reality, Twilight saw a small dragon standing in front of her, a worried expression adorning his face. Spike was clinging to one of Twilight’s forelegs, though relief washed over him when his sister came back to her senses. “Wh… What? Where… What’s going on?” she asked, her voice still strained from her recent visions. “Uh… I dunno,” Spike said softly. “You… You started screaming and woke me up. I ran here and saw you… Just standing, hyperventilating. Staring at nothing.” “What? I don’t… I was…” Twilight’s words quickly choked in her throat. What was she doing, exactly? Why was she standing in the middle of the room? What caused her to feel like she was just about to perish? Her mind drew a blank. With no memories of what could have caused her to seemingly scream out of nowhere, she nuzzled Spike in an attempt to comfort the still-shaken dragon. “I’m sorry, Spike. Guess I had a nightmare.” “Oh yeah? What… What was it about?” “It… Doesn’t matter. I’m fine, now, Go back to bed, I’ll be heading to sleep too.” “Are you sure?” She chuckled. “Yes, I’m sure. Thanks for checking on me, too. I guess I just… Overworked myself.” With one last glance, Spike hugged Twilight before sheepishly going back to bed, though sleep would not come to him that night. Twilight, however, felt oddly relaxed. She looked at the unlit candle on her desk and smiled as she exited the room. Slowly closing the door behind her, her eyes stopped on the shelf she had been staring at, a spot now vacant. She closed the door.
Stranger/2: EchoView OnlineStreams of ConsciousnessStranger/2: EchoJust beyond the tree line, the stranger could finally see the end of his path. Further ahead of the ashen trees and their stony leaves, large ominous forms awaited him. Although supposed to resemble houses and buildings, they too had not been spared by the strange phenomena affecting this world. A part of him wished to turn back, to avoid what he might find in this place once full of life, the absence of any living soul nearby implicating terrible consequences. Glancing at the path behind, however, he knew there would be no point in leaving. Sooner or later, he would have to try his luck in this ghost town if he wished to find supplies and answers. Steeling himself, he pressed onward, quickly reaching the edge of the town. He slowly approached the looming buildings on the outskirts, taking great care in assessing their current condition. First focusing on their exterior, he noticed that the stones, bricks and wooden logs assembled in the form of houses were warped and discolored, changing the buildings’ silhouettes into mockeries of their former selves. Most windows were barred with heavy wooden beams, although some were not. Instead, the few windows left unprotected were smashed, the shards of glass on the inside of the houses. Stepping up to the closest building, he peered through one of these broken windows. Inside, a thick layer of dust — or was it ash — covered every surface. The furniture, much smaller than he was expecting it to be, was in a pitiful state. A table broken in half, one of its legs missing. Large marks on the wooden floor, evoking in his mind the image of someone striking with an ax, or perhaps oversized claws. Shelves on the ground, knocked over and spilling their contents. Countless shards of glass and ceramics scattered across what used to be a living room. A clock, broken, its face pierced with the table’s missing leg. Its hands indicated some time not too long after noon, though he wasn’t sure if they were left untouched as soon as the clock stopped working. He was just about to step inside the building to investigate further when his eyes stopped on a curious detail on the other side of the room. There, a small door, once again slightly too small for a regular human, was held closed by a chair, its back preventing the handle from opening it. Whoever lived there, they were afraid of what laid just beyond that door. He knew he should be afraid as well. He stepped away from the house. Instead, he headed deeper inside the town. Passing by more of the same dilapidated buildings, the stranger carefully looked around in hopes of discovering anything out of the ordinary. He chuckled at his own thoughts, as nothing in his direct vicinity could be described as ‘ordinary’, before deciding to do something he hadn’t done ever since waking up in this world. Taking in a deep breath, the scent of stilled air filling his nostrils, he spoke up, to call for aid. To his own self, the sound of his voice sounded alien, as if not truly belonging to him. His heart raced for a moment as his mind mistook the sound of his own voice for that of someone else’s, but disillusion was quick to set in. The only answer his call mustered was that of his own spoken words, repeating themselves multiple times as the soundwaves bounced around the empty buildings. He sighed. Just as he expected, just an echo. Spotting a nearby bench, he decided to sit down for a moment, allowing his legs to rest for a while. He rubbed his eyes, then stared at the empty streets around him. Despite roaming in this world for some time now, he couldn’t help but feel dissatisfaction at the absolute absence of any living being. There was no one to help him, no one to answer his questions, no one to guide him. All there was, was an echo. An echo of his voice. An echo of what must have been, in the past, a town full of life. An echo of whatever ended it. Then, he pondered. Was he an echo as well? Looking upward, his mind began processing the question. First, he would need to define what an echo was. Of course, the most common definition was that of acoustics, of sound bouncing off of surfaces, crossing the speaker’s space once, twice, thrice, however many times the architecture allowed. Was he, then, an echo? No, he thought, I am more than sound. I am flesh, I am blood and I do not go around bouncing off walls. But then again, he was bouncing off places: right now, from the clearing he woke up in, to the path he found, to this settlement. Would he end up crossing back his starting point? Would he be, then, an echo? Even then, this was not the only existing understanding of the concept of echoes. What does an echo require, in order to exist? It requires a large space, mostly empty, with surfaces to bounce off from, clear boundaries allowing what was uttered to come back. Looking around at the empty streets, he wondered what boundaries this world offered. Were there walls around him, clear limits he wouldn’t be able to cross and that would send him back on his way? Would he even be able to recognize them? Then, he remembered the chair keeping the door locked in that house he investigated. He remembered how he knew better than to discover what was beyond. Perhaps he had found his first wall. Or perhaps he was overthinking. With so little around to entertain and stimulate his mind, his thoughts had the tendency to wander off whenever left unchecked. Was this something he did before ending up in this world? If it did, then, he never paid attention to it. Is awareness an echo, he wondered? Forcing himself to stand back up, he marched on, not wanting to waste any more time thinking about echoes and instead focusing on the search for supplies. Then again, what did he have if not time to waste? A nagging voice in his head made itself known. Is time an echo too, it asked? He replied aloud, speaking up for the second time that day though it was more of a half-mumbled mess of words than any clear utterance of speech. “If I don’t find something to keep my mind occupied, I’m going to go mad.”
Twilight/2: SensationView OnlineStreams of ConsciousnessTwilight/2: SensationInside the town’s small bakery, a group of brightly colored mares listen with varying degrees of attention to the tales of their friend, a cyan mare in the process of excitedly retelling — and embellishing — her recent trip to Cloudsdale. “And then,” she loudly said while flaring up her wings, “I flew right by the stalls, straight through an opened window and across some schmuck’s house before victoriously emerging at the finish line, winning the race!” An orange mare scoffed, rolling her eyes. “So, ya cheated. Not sure how that makes ya look good to the Wonderbolts.” “That’s not cheating, AJ,” the cyan mare replied. “I just… Improvised a shortcut along the way. Totally fine and legit!” “I also wouldn’t exactly call street racing ‘legitimate’, but that’s just me,” added a white unicorn as she took a sip for her tea, all the while trying not to sound or appear too interested in her friend’s story. It would be most unbecoming of a fashionista to find such joy in listening to such reckless tales… And yet, despite her uninterested front, she waited with bated breath the rest of the story. The group of friends then began a lively debate on matters of legality, fairness and ‘awesomeness’, each of the five mares interjecting with their own opinions and ideas, cutting each other off mid-sentence, the tone of their voice growing steadily louder, teetering on the edge of a full-on dispute. This was, for most of the mares inside the bakery, a regular Wednesday. For one of the mares, however, things were different. Twilight absentmindedly listened to her friends arguing all the while silently observing them, her sight jumping from one face to another. And yet, she saw nopony. Her gaze mechanically followed whoever spoke loudest at any point in time, allowing her to pretend to pay attention to the discussion at hoof. However, Twilight did not truly focus on anypony. Rather, each of her friends had turned into nothing but colorful blobs, points of empty space to blankly focus on while her mind wandered off to another place entirely. Instead, Twilight dwelled on a singular sensation deep within her. This sensation wormed its way through her life a few weeks ago, though at first, it had been barely noteworthy. But as the days came to pass, this sensation steadily grew stronger, permeating throughout longer and longer portions of her day-to-day life. Soon, this sensation was all Twilight could truly focus on. Maddeningly, Twilight was unable to put into words how she felt. “What’s this feeling?”, she often asked herself. Not quite boredom, nor dissatisfaction though it made her wish for something more in her life. Or, at least, something different. Once again, Twilight wasn’t sure what it was that was bothering her. Her current routine no longer suited her, but she had no idea what to change, or if she should change anything about her life. There was also a yearning, that she was certain of, but said yearning was unlike anything she ever felt. It was not a simple desire for something, or somepony. The object of her strange want (or was it a need?) was unknown to her, something yet to be revealed to her. But who, or what, would be able to reveal the truth behind this alien sensation? Deep inside, Twilight knew that the answer was just out of reach. If she just thought a little bit harder, if she shut herself a little bit more from the world to focus inwards, then she just might be able to find a revelation. But did she truly want to fulfill this yearning? Instinctively, she knew that whatever this sensation was, it would not be beneficial to her in any way. Rationally, she knew that her current state was odd and that it would be wise of her to talk to somepony else. And yet, a part of her had overridden her rational and irrational minds. A force that laid deep within pushed her to dwell on this feeling, to ignore everything else. “But what is it?”, she asked herself once again. And once again, there was no answer. Twilight slumped in her chair. Her gaze finally stopped bouncing around her friends’ faces and instead wandered off toward the bakery’s windows, staring at the raindrops hitting the clear glass, at the potted plants on the other side of the window, at the mossy, wet cobblestone outside, at the ashen gray clouds over the town. Listening to the pitter patter of rain on glass, Twilight smiled. Then, she stopped. She wondered why she was smiling, just then. Why did she suddenly feel so serene when staring at the droplets hitting the windows, then slowly sliding downward, making their way on the potted plants, on the mossy cobblestone? Why was she so… Happy? Twilight blinked twice, slowly, methodically. She had finally figured out the first piece of the puzzle… Or so, she thought. It was more akin to a theory inside her mind, an experiment that needed to be done. She sat up from her chair, causing the five other mares to suddenly turn their attention toward the lavender unicorn. “Uh… You good, Twi’?” Applejack asked, noticing the strange glint in Twilight’s eyes. “Sorry, girls,” Twilight began, “I just remembered something. I have to go home… It was nice seeing you!” she said with a smile. “Oh… That’s all right, darling,” Rarity replied casually, though her tone betrayed a hint of inner worry for her friend. “Aww, really, Twilight? We haven’t seen you for, like, days…” Pinkie added, her mane somehow deflating ever so slightly, as if it was filled with leaking air. Glancing at the pouring rain outside, Rainbow Dash flared her wings and stood up as well. “That’s fine, Twilight. I’ll come back later to tell you how the rest of my trip went. You’ll want to hear for sure how I dealt with those guards when they saw me sneaking into—” “Thanks, but I’m going to be pretty busy for the rest of the day. Sorry, Rainbow,” Twilight quickly blurted out, cutting the cyan pegasus mid-sentence. Then, without waiting a second more, she sparked her horn and teleported away, reappearing seconds later inside her room. Twilight did not want to waste any more time. She was inspired, finally able to take the first steps in understanding why she felt that way. Something was calling out to her. Something inside the water. She quickly trotted toward her office, ignoring the surprised look on her brother’s face after her sudden appearance. Opening the door, Twilight quickly entered the small room and locked the door behind. She had to avoid any further distractions. Placing an empty sheet of paper on the desk and grabbing a pot of ink with her aura, Twilight then looked around the room. Grabbing multiple books with her magic and placing them nearby, Twilight felt the dreadful sensation claw its way back into her core. Her brief serene respite was already gone, but she did not care any longer. She knew she had to take the next step now, before she forgot. Before her sudden jolt of inspiration sank to the deepest pits of her very soul, before it got drowned out by everything else. She glanced at the shelf on her left. There, a brand-new book laid in between two large encyclopedias. This book, seemingly just out of the printing press, was familiar to Twilight. Hesitantly, she added it to the pile of books and manuscripts that would guide her research. Twilight worked far into the night, almost completely ignoring Spike’s intermittent knocks asking if she was all right, the lavender mare barely responding enough to ensure her brother wouldn’t try entering the room or call for help. She would not allow any additional distractions.
Stranger/3: PsychopompView OnlineStreams of ConsciousnessStranger/3: PsychopompThe stranger calmly made his way through the ashen remains of the town, occasionally stopping to glance at a nearby building or sign. Although unable to read what remained of the written words painted on the rotting wooden planks, a part of him instinctively picked up on the general message inscribed onto the signs. He had mostly walked by directional signs indicating what must have once been street names and the occasional shop, though the buildings themselves were in such a state that their previous purposes had been washed away with time. Never lingering for too long, he made a mental map of the town with the best of his abilities. He didn’t really expect to become lost — or, at least, any more lost than he currently was —, but rather simply hoped to keep his mind busy, to prevent him from entering another meaningless linguistical debate with himself. He knew that should he allow his mind to wander once more, he would stop for hours just to think about the true meaning of signs, language and purpose. Ever since waking up in these strange lands, he had noticed how much his mind had started to drift away and to wander off as soon as he stopped walking. This had been one of the reasons why he kept pushing forward, never allowing himself to remain in one spot for too long: he was afraid he’d spend so much time lost in his thoughts that he’d forget his bodily needs. So, he kept going as much as his body allowed him to, never resting for too long. Eventually, the stranger reached what must have once been the town’s central square. A large area mostly devoid of ruins was surrounded by a circle of buildings, all in the same level of abandoned disrepair. The ground there was covered in the same strange dust that covered every single window around him. Observing the square more thoroughly before fully stepping into its vicinity, he noticed a few small bumps underneath the dust, near the center of the square breaking the otherwise completely flat ground. Hesitantly, he stepped forward, carefully making his way toward the bumps. The only sounds accompanying his steps were that of his boots displacing the dust as well as the faintest melody of blowing winds. The area, otherwise completely silent, filled him with the sensation of dread. He knew that whatever laid underneath these bumps, these tiniest of hills, would shake him to his core… But would also bring an answer. At least, he hoped so. In total, he counted three of the ominous mounds. Getting increasingly closer, the stranger gauged that what was underneath must be fairly small, only being a couple of feet tall at most. And as he approached, as his eyes became able to better discern what was a formless shape just a moment ago, he was able to notice the shape of the things buried in the center of the square. The forms all shared the same shape, one recognizable to the stranger. Still, though, he elected to kneel next to the closest mound to observe more carefully, still not daring to touch with his hands. He furrowed his brow, then scratched his chin. Despite there not being anyone to listen to him, he spoke up, asking a question both to himself and to the shapes in front of him. “... Horses?” he asked, perplexed. “No,” he continued, “not quite. Too small… Ponies? I… I suppose it kind of makes sense for a small country town.” Moving up to the next shape nearby, he carefully wiped at the layers of dust and ash to reveal a second cadaver, slightly larger than the previous one but still equine in nature. However, what caught his attention this time was not the stone-like bones of the animal in front of him, but what it was supposedly wearing before its untimely end. Laid atop its head was an old, worn-out leather hat. Multiple scratches and holes were scattered along its surface, leaving the hat just as decrepit as the rest of the world around it. The stranger remained there, motionless, for a while. Slowly, the memories of his trip flooded back into his mind, the skeleton’s discovery shining a new light on the world around him. He did notice the strange architecture around the town: the smaller houses and doors, the large door handles, the half-erased horseshoe symbols on the signs. Standing back up, the stranger came to a realization. This world, or this town at least, wasn’t inhabited by humans but by ponies. He scratched his chin and looked around in stunned silence. Where exactly was he? In what world did he end up? Were these creatures just as sentient as he was? This thought seemed highly unlikely to the stranger, and yet he could not help but consider it. Instinctively grasping at his chest, at the symbol embossed on his cloak, he decided to step away. The remains in front of him would not bring him any further insight into this world. Glancing at the ruins around him, he stepped away from the center of the town. He had lingered there long enough. His purpose in this world was still yet to be found and staring at old bone formations did not seem like the best use of his time. He pondered where to go next before closing his eyes. After a brief moment to think, he walked in one direction without much consideration other than it was the only path that felt right. Now that he thought about it, most of his time in this world had been dictated by sensations rather than reason. Back home — wherever his home might have been — people did not act as carelessly as he did when facing strange occurrences. He remembered the stories from his world, the books, the films and the endless stream of entertainment his kind had access to. He remembered a friend, though they remained faceless in his memories. This friend loved to talk about theoretical apocalypses and upcoming end-of-the-world scenarios, how they would be prepared for anything that would happen. He remembered the long nights spent listening to their meticulous plans, the details now lost to time. To be honest, he had rarely paid any attention to what seemed like utter nonsense at the time. He just enjoyed the conversation, the company of another soul to fill in the night’s silence. At this point, this was all he could remember about this friend: that they talked about these impossible scenarios. Were they really friends, the stranger pondered. Perhaps they were family. Or perhaps, it was not someone to talk to at all: it could be a character from one of those countless stories he had access to. Maybe these echoes of past conversations were an amalgamation of the few memories still inhabiting his mind. The only thing he knew for sure, though, was that he had not been acting rationally ever since arriving in this world. He had been there for days, now (or was it weeks?). Instead of securing a reliable source of food or finding shelter, he just walked. At first, to find traces of civilization, but his goals became blurred as he entered this ruined settlement. When was the last time he ate? Why was he not hungry? Perhaps he just ate something. Perhaps he simply forgot. Or, maybe, just maybe, he no longer needed to eat. This thought barely troubled the stranger. He stopped dead in his tracks. Once again, he caught himself letting his thoughts wander off, thinking about… What was he thinking about, again? The stranger blinked. It was becoming increasingly harder to focus. He thought he was walking away from the corpses. When he came back to his senses, he finally noticed that he hadn’t moved at all ever since finding the hat near the equine skeleton. The worn-out hat he was now holding with a shaky hand. Tentatively, he put it on. Inside his psyche, a dam broke. A torrent of thoughts flooded the expanse inside his skull, filling the void where his own remembrance was. Quick images flashed in front of his eyes. An orchard, trees graying with every season. Anger at a friend refusing to help. The mind-shattering hunger, the few scraps left given to the young. The profound sadness at the thought of the inevitable. The discovery of a body unmoving in his bed, his formerly massive frame now rendered thin and weak. It was all to protect the young, he had said the night prior when skipping dinner. Then, an exodus of sorts. She took her sister and left. A friend came back, with promises of a solution… But the friend lied. A lie so obvious, and yet just one pony saw through it. Anger, then a confrontation. Then, the memories ended. Whatever end the hat-wearing corpse had met, it was too quick for her to notice. The stranger sighed. At least he had received confirmation concerning this world’s inhabitants. Ponies, he uttered aloud. With a mind now cleared of the fog that had inhabited it for the past minutes, he stood up. The vast emptiness inside his head had been partially filled by the memories somehow stored inside the hat. His purpose seemed obvious, then. He looked up. His eyes grew wide. In the skies above, dark, heavy clouds began to descend — or, rather, materialize into thin air. Brief flashes of chaotic light peered through the clouds’ heavy mass, as if a powerful storm was stuck inside, unable to fully pierce its surroundings to strike the lands beneath. And, just inside these ominous clouds that now covered the skies above, the stranger noticed something even more peculiar. Shapes, moving inside the clouds. For the first time ever since stepping foot in this world, a wave of pure fear washed over him. Just above him, an overwhelming danger. A threat worse than death. Quickly, he stood up and ran as far as he could, away from the town’s center. He was not alone in this world. And while he had noticed the other entities living in it, he prayed that they had not noticed him yet.
Twilight/3: RiverView OnlineStreams of ConsciousnessTwilight/3: RiverSomething has gone wrong. We don't seem to have an archived copy of that chapter.
