The gem rattles and grows to the size of Yorke’s head. It illuminates just enough for her to make out the path. It’s helped her see more than just dark roads and caves. Ever since she’s been in possession of this twenty-sided oddity she’s been seeing places she’s never been before, one of which she now marches toward. It’s difficult for her to describe what this particular place looks like, because there’s nothing much there to describe. She’s drawn not by its appearance, but its feeling. There’s a sense of finality about it. An end. As she walks towards this impending conclusion she asks herself if it’s by choice or by chance that she’s journeyed this far. “Is any of this real?” she asks herself. “Does any of this matter?” The gem rattles, though it’s hard to tell if it was in response.
I felt like writing a little story for that thing I drew.