Ayda’s POV

The room was watercolor in the rain, objects shifting and melting into each other. The lines that gave them form wiggled before my very eyes. Spinning, spinning, the room was spinning. It hurt to breathe; it hurt to be. A heat, a fire, a breakdown of the atoms, the fabric of my being, being consumed by the energy of the universe. I was being pulled apart, unmade, and hastily rebuilt.

In to what I didn’t know…

“Easy dear, ...