Control
The air hummed with latent energy as calloused palms hovered above the obsidian monolith, centuries of condensed magic seeping through skin pores. This ritual touch awakened more than ancient machinery—it synced heartbeat to the leyline's pulse, transforming flesh into living conduit. Memories not her own flooded synapses: warriors crystallizing mid-swing, architects whispering to stone, children trading laughter for translucent claws. The price of communion etched itself in real time—veins glowing cobalt through epidermis, molars vibrating with phantom collisions between eras. Veteran channelers warned of the "Echo Sickness", how prolonged contact could strand minds between timelines. Yet when the third moon aligned, even skeptics reached barehanded into the humming stone, chasing visions of the Shattering's final moments before reality fractured. Every graze left permanent residues—fleeting warmth today, tomorrow the scent of petrichor from unrained storms, by week's end the taste of copper when speaking lies. Some initiates withdrew. She pressed deeper, fingertips dissolving into shimmering mist, chasing the addictive rush of brushing against the raw edges of creation itself.
c
Childhood unfolds in sunlit backyards and rain-soaked puddles, where towering trees become castles and cardboard boxes transform into rocket ships. Fingers sticky with jam, laughter echoing through mudpie kitchens, tiny explorers chart imaginary worlds ruled by tea parties with stuffed dragons and blanket forts guarded by sock-puppet knights. Every pebble hides a secret, every dandelion puff carries a wish, and fireflies flicker like stolen stardust in jelly-jar lanterns. Feet bare, knees grass-stained, young adventurers chase butterflies and unravel mysteries—why ants march, how clouds taste, where the sidewalk ends. Giggles erupt during tag, tears dry with band-aid magic, and bedtime stories blur into dreams of pirate ships sailing cereal-box seas. Here, dragons are real but easily bribed with cookies, friendships are forged in shared popsicles, and the world fits perfectly inside a sandbox.
