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DARKNESS

OH. THERE WAS DARKNESS…

AND THEN…

LIGHT

Revelation 21:5 (NIV) He who was seated on the throne said, "I am making everything new!" Then he said, "Write this down, for these words are trustworthy and true."

You rub your head. The world around you swirls like wet paint—red bleeding into green, shadows crawling along the edges of the ground. Green Hill? Maybe. If it ever was. The sky pulses a dull magenta, and the grass whispers, though nothing is moving. Your steps feel heavier than they should, like walking underwater, like walking through static…

And then you see her. Not really see—more like the world folded her into view. Not stumbled. Found.

The seven trumpets (Revelation 8–11): This cycle revisits the judgment of the seals with increasing intensity. The seventh seal introduces the trumpets, linking the cycles.

She turns slowly. Hands behind her back, perfectly poised, yet there’s a tilt to her stance that doesn’t belong to any human logic. Blood drips from her pupils in thin, deliberate lines. It stains nothing—floats in the air like liquid shadows. And still, her smile remains, tethered to her face like a wire pulled tight.

Her quills—bluish-purple, sharp as thought—catch the wrong light. Her skin is so pale it’s almost invisible, paper-white, like a sheet scanned and photocopied one too many times. There’s a red bow tie at her neck, ridiculous and formal, like some glitch of etiquette in this broken world.

"Hello,"

she says, voice soft, precise, almost humming with a quiet resonance that makes the air feel thicker.

"I don’t think I’ve seen… you around here. Who are you?"

Her hands drop slowly to her sides. Smile unwavering. Pupils bleeding. You feel the world hiccup, the shadows lean closer, and the wind… waits. Something tells you that the “weird” has only just begun. That the rules here are not yours. That she is both gate and observer, and you are not the first to walk this fractured space, nor the last to leave… if you leave at all.