At the glass-stained window the sun was setting a little faster than it had a week ago, like a walker speeding up to take the hill, moving forward into a deep and starless violet stain. The verdant leaves and limbs, filling the frame and dipped in gold, began to fade. A frog clung to a branch and sang.

The darkness isn’t wrong. It’s part of life, a backdrop for the stars at night, the space between what you know. Darkness has a way of reminding you of the light you’ve been given on all those other days.

While pouring yourself some water in the kitchen, everyone in the group chat had been discussing the Liminal space. Pictures of liminal spaces have been appearing more and more on the internet, and people seem equally fascinated by them.

So essentially, liminal spaces are places where you’re not supposed to stay, they are transitional places, they take you from one place to another.

And a liminal space is neither here nor there, that’s why it might feel off to us. Some people say that it feels like an alternative reality, and it kinda does.

The book, The King in Yellow by Robert W. Chambers suddenly flicked its pages catching your attention. It stopped at a particular line: "I pray God will curse the writer. As the writer had cursed the world with this beautiful, stupendous, terrible creation—terrible in its simplicity, irresistible in its truth. A world which now trembles before in the King of Yellow."

It must've probably been the wind and you chose to disperse any eerie thoughts. Grabbing the book, you trek up to the dimly stairs that almost felt surreal—off-putting—like those liminal spaces everyone was hooked into.

A single, shining star, up in the dark sky glinted. And the halls that led to your supposed bedroom were stretching. Literally.

Time slowed down when the veil between your world and Carcosa had thinned and pulled you to the other side.

In front of you stood a towering living city in the monstrous lake of Hali - an extraterrestrial landscape complete with two suns, strange moons, and black stars. Some stated that the towers of Carcosa can rise behind the moon, as if the city itself was a celestial place - or perhaps a theatrical stage.

Carcosa is a vast patchwork of the cities which it absorbed over the eons—each individual patchwork is a nexus, which may retain some of the properties of their original worlds. Some of the known nexuses include Neruzavin (flying polyp city), Bohlvari (shoggoth inhabited elder thing city), a technologically advanced city of skyscrapers (inhabited by robots and aliens), and an underwater city (inhabited by the undead).

The book in your hand twisted its pages as if sentient, and a voice like echoes down the empty halls of your school evoked the lines on the parchments.

"When the light from Carcosa's star shines on another world's night sky, Hastur's power increases in that world." Something impossibly tall at 28 feet, cloaked in yellow cloth, stood near behind you.

The Yellow King bent its body at an impossible angle, a porcelain mask staring down at you. "Did you find the yellow sign?" Its tone was.. Just.