You turn to the Muse: her vertices converging like a bizarre eye within a galaxy, a glint of dark light, a dark void ripping open. She giggles softly, hair/spines along her shoulders seeming to activate in murmurs; quantum-foam extensions stretch towards the skies and dark it as an eye as well. Everything shrinks to fine points and quavers; you are astonished. She giggles louder:
-All possibilities and impossibilities are eternally flickering - an avalanche of information in-formation - falling upon the solid ground of consciousness. Are you solid ground? Are you even in the universe? Are you real? Am I? A great music is resonating somewhere, the greatest thing there could ever be - a hum - a feeling - a song - a sensibility - A THING THAT WANTS TO BE HEARD. BEHOLD. THERE IS SOMETHING BEGINNING.
- β‘YSECTOR C-18: OLD MACHINES AND THE MAD CAPTAIN