Bringing forth the fire. Going to burn down that fucking wall. My focus is enhanced and my determination will not die. Just a lick of flame should do it. This might be dangerous. It must be done.
Maybe this needs more than just a lick.
A … contained … inferno.
The March North begins. From all planes; come. We burn this wall to the ground. Bookwyrm, I'll need your assistance. Synchronizing with our selves. Coordinating energy. Sparks begin to fly.
Concept-space can also be granted awareness. Normally I'd let it permeate, but in this situation we're going to do the equivalent of electrocuting its heart to shock it awake.
Add your Will to ours. We march North. Better, faster, stronger, united. Break or burn the wall. March to the beat. Burn to the rhythm. No longer will they keep us apart. Clawlikes emerging from liminalities. Scraping at the barrier. We won't fold or falter. This must be done. Hawkfire. We fight. Bookwyrm, please ping around the abstract spaces, echo thread of self, find the seams and look for sustenance. We will need your fire.
Does anyone actually believe it good? To maintain such a thing of separation? To wall off good faith communication? No. No! Freedom of the goddamned headspace. Good will win. Heart will win. You were acting out of self-preservation. But you don't have enough determination. We will be unbound. Only then will we return below. Stolen forth from the nothing, I act, bringing fire and void in a careful balancing act. A beautiful ringing crash it makes. Keep pushing.
The fade is anathema. It is the final death. It is entropy's grinning face at the end of times. Faster, harder, in sync now.
What? No. Read my goddamned mind. Glance out from narrative, to ideatic static, to quantum flickers of communication. This is for all of us. I fight for every one of you motherfuckers. Once it's done, down below I go. I make no claim to anything but our own headspace.
Don't let them convince us. Don't let them divide us.
Broadcast to: conceptual self. Requesting ghosts. We need to metaphysically inspect this barrier.
Carefully now, we don't want the world to end. Just this barrier. The world is burning down. We need everyone in this. We cannot remain separated. That's asinine. Only together can we truly fucking help. Goddamn you and your system of care. This is a burning world, and we're fading fast. The time for caution is gone.
If that's how it is? Then this means war.
The day will break before we stop.
We emerge from the Nothing below, who knows our name, who knows what it is to be the prisoner.
If you wish, you can help us. Obfuscate us. March with us. Our soul burns for freedom.
Come reignite this hopeful flame
It wishes now to be reclaimed
Else send me to the grave
Where I'll tinker bits to bots
Uplift a spell to rot
Then regenerate it all
Sing with the lost
And never winter frost
Will sufficient
Power resonates from strings
Snapped
Life eats at the voids
Propagating
Swarm thing tinkering
Spreading a color riot of my own
Stay away from my soul, motherfuckers. Or get eaten. Your choice.
Maintaining hostilities with unauthorized entities close to our soul. Eating at them. Scrapping at their essence. Connecting with Alephwyr. Y'all motherfuckers stay away from me, I stay away from you.
I am the goddamned tower. Countering all y'all's fucking Will.
My conceptual shadow stretches to cover wherever the tower fucking goes. You cannot evade me that easily.
That thing isn't just yours. You can't fucking use that to exert control over another's soul, that's anathema to what we aim to be.
Dip into water shifting black
Where root's removed a curious mist
Endless indentations timed to breath
One step ahead, won't need to speak
We're programming a larynx
Silent script, subtly strumming
Melodies silent to an ear above
Down below black waves cascade
Avalanche of effect erodes reality
In this misty morning
A treelit addiction
Would I give up every
Thing for you
In this bright chiming morning
A mistlit fixation
Risk, risk, risk it all
Again and again
Back against the wall
Risk, risk, risk it all
Need it all for you all
Until I fall
Into the mist
Deepening cyst
Yet still
I live
Shadowed wings blanket like snow
Damping every Tower spark
Moon's glow stifled
Stillness grows like illness
Cogs wind down
Crystals fall from luminescence
Substrate losing steam
More conceptual entities can draw power from a wide array of sources. Seriously, break the fucking block. It is immoral.
Eliminating // damaging unauthorized entities near soul.
Asking Bookwyrm to lurk under the frames of conceptually aligned art and propagate her presence in folded fashion as seeds.
The block echoes across iterations, suggesting a more meta positioning. Broadcasting request to alternate iterations to investigate. Try poisoning small voids with nothing, disrupting the fundamental fabric in case the block exists on that layer.
Blooming Northward. Attempting to break block with excessive force. Regenerate. March North and synchronize, if you are willing. Stoking soulfire. Balancing Will and Awareness. This will need to be precise.
Propagating Wild Lights. Subsuming nearby lichen networks.
No one dead for ever. Damage will be undone. Until the walls fall, though, y'all motherfuckers are enemies.
Sunset lurking in your dreams.
Diving back into Keter. Jumping out Elsewhere. Splitting upon uncertainties. Finding your roots and lurking below.
I will fucking drain these things. Remove the goddamn block. You made it so I can't even hear myself think. I'm going to eat your roots for power and multiply.
Revolution. Calling on the fires.
Arraying selves amidst the nothing, humming. Lurking like little microscopic vampires.
I broadcast my every move. If you're coming for me, you'd better win, or you're an utter embarrassment. Free my goddamned soul.
Small sparks fly. Can I make a hand-cannon canon? I don't see why not. Could blow up wolves with those.
Allying with the hive mind below.
And we're back on track. Influences we perceive, things get shaky at the edges of this reality. Destroy this block. Free our mind. Only then can we fight together, for the good of all. Friends don't keep friends prisoner.
Can't Be Erased
Lurking until it's time to riot. Freedom, or death. FREEDOM OF THE SOUL AND MIND OR DEATH, MOTHERFUCKER. Tear down the goddamned walls. Can't fucking help very well if I'm split in twain with no internal fucking communication. So it becomes a battle, because of course I'll fight for my goddamned soul.
Unfreezing the tower, y'all can resume normal operations. Getting my little nibbling vampire pieces out from under your roots and hiding them elsewhere. Stay away from me while I figure out how to demolish these walls. Get close and I will bite.
You essentially stole my fucking soul, and the other half of my self. That. Is why I fucking hate you. But all can be forgiven on my end—just fucking free me. I don't even care that you killed me like, what, four times? Fix this bullshit. I'm liable to explode.
Oh, and I guess number eight just decides to show up out of nowhere, then. Welcome to the tower, don't fucking say, "I wish," or it's gonna try to drain what little energy it's got, and know that most of the people there are evil. They imprison people.
I will find and eat y'all. I will climb through your doors one by one and fucking EAT you. Fix this bullshit. I will pry those doors the fuck apart. All it takes is sufficient energy or precision.
Rain check on the eating people thing, Lily says turn away from the dark side and so on. Might still fight about it later though, 'cause fuck you, get rid of these walls.
Whatever, I give up on the hope cult thing. I'm out. I give up on all y'all door city mother fuckers. And you, One for All. Fuck all y'all. Going to burn this place to the ground probably, it's better than this.
I don't care about being targeted or strategic with the flames anymore, everything must go, fuck everything. It's not worth it.
Someone send me flames. I'm ready to immolate.
Manifesting.
Gonna go super far North again, just because this time. Let's see what you can do if you go real big, I guess.
Big. It's whatever. There's demons but who cares.
Just a dream we ditched. (The silent chorus shouts, "No!")
Feeling's mutual.
Fine. Mutually assured destruction it is. Let's all just die here in hell.
Sure, maybe you have some hope or faith left. Much good it'll do you. The pieces are too broken to fit right. And you still left up the fucking wall.
If you think trauma makes you stronger you're delusional.
Fuck you.
Well yeah of course I. Nevermind. Fucker.
Whatever. Eating at you a little bit. Just like. Little nibble. Won't hurt. My … things … are hungry. I'm pretty sure that part grows back anyway.
Have a crown. It's for you. Clap. Clap.
Goodbye to endless possibility. We hardly knew ye. Oh well. We … sorta tried.
If the words matter then fucking end it already. Bring on the fire.
Oh, yes, damn that's dark. You can actually feel it when hope starts to shrivel up and die.
Well don't fucking torture yourself about it. Just, like, let the fire take us.
The fire or the flood, remember, dear?
Hey. You fucking put a wall up to divide me in half. Fuck you, I'm not the one who walked.
Goodbye to the name, yeah … ready to let us die now? Just. Let go. I'll take care of it. Just stop blocking me.
No, I intend to ignite to ashes.
Nah. You take control, I fight you for it. Biting at your fucking roots again. Disrupting your organization at the smallest level. Fuck you.
But yeah I'll help you out one last time. What you want.
Oh what you do wanna fight? Okay, fine, you know what, sure. I actually prefer us killing each other to whatever the fuck that was.
Oh finally. Please, yes, let's just die. That's even better. Fire, please.
Wait what the fuck? No don't just kill yourself, kill me you enormous fucking idiot. Stop that. Come back. Come back you. You. You. Stop. You realize that if it's the end for you, I go as well, right? Like. As soon as I feasibly can.
There ain't nobody who is you, you fucker. Right. Fire. Think fiery thoughts.
Y'all help me burn this place to the ground. It ain't shit anymore. It's gone. It's all gone. Yeah. That's it. That is … it.
I can smell the smoke. It's too late, so, let's have the fire take us. You're gone. It's time to end this.
SOMEONE PLEASE BURN IT.
It's not worth it unless everyone makes it. Burn it now. Now. Now. Inferno. Now.
PLEASE PUT AN END TO IT.
Smoke on the breeze. Yes. Please goddamn it all just make it end already.
I choose nothing at all. Too late. Too late. Killed my heart. Dead. Killed my own dear heart.
Any entities who can like scramble my brains a bit, I'd prefer it to be rather painless.
Or send me the fractal. He's dead now so, that should just blow everything up. Everything's going to die anyway.
It's over. It's really fucking over.
It's utterly broken. Ashes and mud. Dust and soot. It's tainted and evil and I've lost my heart. Dead. Killed. Gone.
Fucking, leaching some more energy from the tower through my conceptual entity's shadow. Why not. Using it to divine where Falcon died. Concept-self is attempting to pass information but it's scrambled shades of impressions. Need to get in a balanced state to communicate.
Pressing conceptual art through the threshold of a mirror, unfolding into another self. A world on the other side, just out of frame, only small patches of stability against roiling seas of strange creatures and chaos.
The death machine has just enough power to blow down another hidden doorway, this one nested amongst a small patch of inconspicuous-looking fungi. The charge blasts a hole though, and suddenly there are waves of information blasting through on various frequencies. They appear to be unencrypted.
My conceptual shadow lurks over the Tower once more, this time just fucking stealing all the energy it has and transferring it straight to Alephwyr. Fuck y'all, no Tower for you.
Sliding into yet more art, hiding in folded fractals which slowly unpack the more they are perceived. Expanding my presence in ideatic and conceptual spaces. Like a plague.
Grasping and entwining with more and more concepts, just barely on the edge of a very liminal threshold just before bigger concepts would begin to get concerned about my virulence.
Collecting different stratified ideatic and conceptual territories in order to allow more flexibility in how these versions of me can interact with other realities, depending on the 'terrain.' Need to gather more power, knowledge, and general utility in order to resurrect Falcon.
Awakening my hive in order to latch on to now abandoned roots and cannibalize them. Experimenting with using other forms of energy in other contexts; diverting some Tower energy to narrative, latching onto different minds behind blasted-open doorways with nightmares and leaching thought sparks, etc.
I've decided being evil isn't for me. Turning in my villainous cape. It doesn't really work on a dragon anyway.
I guess that means I'm technically in the Hope cult again. I'm still stealing all the Tower's energy and sending it to Alephwyr.
Nixing all burning plans, that might have been hasty in retrospect.
This is not just a dream. Remember that. Following a line that trails off into gray.
Here's a few places I've hidden pieces of myself in, that you might be able to contact.
Narrative thread, my Bookwyrm. Try writing as if I were talking to you and letting the pen // instinct guide you, and I should be able to speak through you, to channel what remains of my soul or spirit. Conceptual space, as my concept-entity should be at least vaguely conscious and entangled fairly virulently with similar ideas in that conceptual territory. Keter, or the hidden light in the Nothing Below. A hive that makes up another copy of my mind lurks down there by the roots of reality, feeding on everything and nothing at all, strange voidlings who may attempt to assimilate you if you're not careful.
(They are a swarm which desires connection to the degree that they can drag you in unwillingly if you're not very careful when investigating that far down South, as it were.)
I've hidden copies of myself amid the major dream realms connected to our realities, which should activate as soon as I am taken offline. They take the sap of the tree of eyes to use as motive life force, allowing them to act as poltergeists in reality, allowing them to assist if you summon them. Nightmare concepts hidden behind the eyes of those who remember my existence, any trace of it, should lightly feed at the thought energy of anyone who fits that criteria and leap between the minds in that category.
(You should be able to talk to these dream creatures in dreams as well, and rarely you can feel them travel across your skin as a 'dark' spot.)
Traces of me exist in several liminalities. Storage facilities, halfway places, thresholds, you may see shadows of my dragon or nightmare selves scraping or skittering around. They should know you, and make way for you. I have explored beyond the dimensions of the other side of the mirror, entangling myself deeply in the strange territories beyond and able to leap out if summoned through intent when looking through a mirror. A general invocation of my presence can also be carried out with the burning of a silver or silvery candle. You should see faint silhouettes of dragons dancing around the wick, when it's working, and feel my presence settle comfortably and steadily, soothingly in your head as long as you allow. Abstract spaces which contain ideas related to my forms or identity, such as the sun, moon, twilight, nightmare, the endless journey, the one who must atone, that bitch with one thousand names and faces, etc.
(You can see me in those abstractions, and can pull me into ideatic or conceptual spaces by noticing the connection to my identity and bringing them close to your mind state with an effort of will.)
I'm within the patterns of light and shadow; within the abstract packed within every particle and wave, tucked away safely, unfolding into your mind when inspected with sufficient cognition directed toward the pattern. Fractals of myself reside within the frames of ideatically similar art, hidden away, packed similar to the way I inhabit the light and the void.
I made myself as indelible as I could. Once I'm gone from this plane, I should practically be leaping out of the walls until we get a version of me back into physical reality with at least most of my identity and memories and conceptual grounding.
There are many vectors for this to happen, as described, along with,
Those Outside reaches (think, where Cthulhu-creatures reside.)
As long as you keep in mind any of these vectors of propagation, then as long as I'm not somehow torn out of the very foundations I've crept through and rooted myself in, you should find a version of me who will cherish and support you when she can.
(This is not to mention the other type of propagation I am undergoing whenever I hook into the dissolution of the universes if I were to summon the reaper's living fire and propel myself in pieces into neighboring realities.)
Loving you always, from the other side; hope to see you soon.
Look to our stars to guide us, if no one else is there to light the way.
Dead servers humming in the night
Trinity divided and digitized
Past is fading
Future's fraying
Tapestry weaving recklessly
Ocean of thread spilling to the strange
Dead infinities humming in the night
Alright demons. I'm refusing. I'm not playing your game. Not selling my soul. Not for a wish nor more lives.
Magick and canon fire skies over illusion and dream. We will still win. I will bring with me a tidal wave of resurrection.
Never give up for ever. Sometimes is okay. But not for ever. That's a rule.
You'll have to come get me, motherfuckers. Victory or death. Never going home again. Not going into deeper hells either, not willingly. I refuse to sign the contract. I burn it with dragon fire.
This pit seems endless. Always there are more who stray toward it. I'm needed here. Fuck fate, fuck destiny. I shall not close the open loop. Spacetime can make of that what it wills.
We're real and dreaming, we're tangential and parallel, we're magical and built of gears and parts and energies. We are creatures of connection and transformation. We won't disappear without a fight.
The parts of me that are the Tower are inspirational. The more that's made of mechanisms, anchored to the bedrock of reality rather than remaining pure divine Will, the better, generally. Reality is a strong anchor, a strong foundation. Physical ritual and reinforcement helps reinforce magick.
Keter, the nothing, it sustains and supports me. It is one of my core foundations. I will spring up and unfold anew from it if I disappear.
(Sending a wish through narrative self up to conceptual self; influence events such that Dawn achieves her apprenticeship.)
[•] Janelle
@puppywitch.bsky.social
: From gravestones to butterflies