In the depths there is the Abyss of Ink, and there is the blood of truth, the core of things: from within it forms rise up into the waters above, and as they drift closer to the light they become evident, and known to the world.

Form was not always the truth of the world. First, truth was stillness; ink placid at its core, water in waiting. The insistent prying of light resolved into perfect gradient.




Ere the surface of the ocean lay calm and unmarred. It was like a thick sheet with no wrinkles, and the light shone down dazzling into the water, and slowly it died as it reached far down...