Union, Abandoned Residential District

The world was silent. The air itself felt heavy, saturated with the pale, shifting substance that followed her everywhere.

Myra walked barefoot across cracked pavement, her white robe dragging trails of the gooey psychoplasm behind her. It pulsed faintly, alive - an extension of her will. Each step left a faint echo, like footsteps underwater.

She stopped beside a broken swing set. The seats swayed though there was no wind.

A soft hum escaped her lips—Lily’s lullaby. The sound seemed to calm the restless substance around her, its bubbling slowing to stillness. For a moment, the whiteness shimmered like sunlight on water.

Then her voice faltered. The swing creaked. The illusion of peace collapsed.

“My baby… where are you?” she whispered, her voice trembling beneath the weight of her own creation.

The psychoplasm rippled at her words, rising up her arms like a tide. She didn’t resist. She let it flow, reshaping into pale tendrils that stretched toward the sky, fusing with the buildings around her.

Everything she touched turned white, lifeless—but protected. Hidden. Safe.

Her eyes, veiled by strands of the same substance, closed slowly.

“I’ll build you a world, Lily,” she murmured. “A place no one can hurt you again.”