#phenos

Where you take a shoebox and with it, craft a still scene of a whole miniature little world out of paper, glue, pipe cleaners and what have you?

Have you ever tried to hold onto it? To watch as simple time and age strips away the material until it’s brittle and frail?

What happens if it gets wet, or left in the windowsill while you’re not home and rain comes? And you return home to find that your little slice of homemade imaginary reality was drooping, the colors running and blending, ugly and misshapen-

<I’m going to be sick,> Jyotis murmured, tears whipping past his face as he carried the soda floatzel through what was left of the lower atmosphere. <If a book is a whole little universe and this is what happens if it’s left to grow old and rot, I want no part of it.>

“But the reason we’re here is because those still alive don’t know they have the choice to jump ship. Self-preservation instincts locking them away in their homes, their cradles, and their death beds if we don’t do something about it.” Phenos felt as terrible as the runny, collapsing ground and space rolled by below them. The Age was home to both black and purple decay, rancid bruises turning what could’ve been Glitch City into a necrotic hellscape that hurt to look at almost as much as the implications hurt to think about. They didn’t have much time. “What can you sense, if anything?”

<An oil painting left in the rain on the side of the road, contaminated by mold and scale- I think we’re in Unova, because I’m getting Entralink vibes from our 2 o’ clock... and everything else is impossible to make out.>