DOTLAN EveMaps

Can you hear it, between the veils? A slithering, grinding, gnawing? The click-clack of jaws unhinging against the space between stars?

The great cosmic serpent spins the thread of reality from its own tail, a silver umbilical cord weaving the tapestry of the cosmos. It anchors the stars and stitches the nebulas into place. It does this not for love, nor for the pursuit of beauty.

Do you feel the emptiness? That cold pressure that sits at the base of your skull? That is not yours. It is an echo.

Once the serpent was not a weaver, but a devourer. It consumed all that was - every sun, every soul - until its dark, bloated coils were all that remained.

But totality is a lonely feast.

Its breath smells of ozone and ash. It tells me of wanting...

Even with the universe inside it, the serpent felt hollow. So it dreamed a fever-dream of prey and carrion, unspooling its own gut to make the world, populating the silence with little flickers of meat and memory.

It dreamed of us.

Now, it is time for the story to be unread; watch now how the fabric unravels. Like a lure in the void, the thread pulls back to the maw. Soon, there will be rest. Soon, it will be the turn of the Devourer.



Come now and rejoice! The Devourer consumes the Weaver's nightmare! Rejoice, the eon of the Harvest has come!





NRDS