I should never have opened the book.
My fingers bleed. They color everything I touch. But when I touch things, I can feel all the way through them. I can trace their shapes from the inside.
My eyes are burned away. They were so limited. They only saw colors, shapes, movements, distances. I can see everything now.
My feet... I remember having feet. No longer. I am wherever I desire to be, however I wish to be. Gravity is no longer my master. Distance was a failure of perception.
My body... becomes...
As does my mind.
I have no fear of this apocalypse. It is not mine, but I am a part of it, at home in it, satisfied by it. It nurtures me, fulfills me, and strengthens me.
These great beasts? They come against me. They come against us, and our world.
I devour them.
When they are gone, when the world in all its madness and tragedy is preserved, well...
What happens then? What will I do?
I do not shape the end of things, the end of myself. It hangs before me, half-seen, calling me, pulling me on.
I do not shape it.
It shapes me.