Were days? Were months? Were years? Were millennials? Were seconds? The answer didn't mattered, time here doesn't works, you can't even remember your own name, you can't remember your original shape, you can't remember from how long you are here.

Your body over time changed, adapting to this place, you are a short, cyan skinned, never-ending crying entity, is even theorized that your tears created the endless and bottomless ocean that surrounds the small town by the occasional outsiders, you weren't alone trought, some bomb-omb buddies with red eyes, they were there, lost souls that like you couldn't escape from the fate of the original Wet-Dry World...

Here there is a costant negative aura emanated and a never-ending music which is a more melancholic, dready, and sadder yet nostalgic version of Dire Dire Docks' music.

You were staring at the endless sea which was not only home of astral, yet beautiful deepth fishes who were peacefully fetching on the residents' dread, but also the thing who ruined the original Wet-Dry World.

Dry Town cannot be destroyed, worse, it can be flooded for the eternity.