The day before yesterday, it was charming—a sport of nature. I popped it into a wine glass and provided water to drink.
The seed grew so fast, tendrils unspooling and feeling along the walls. Even when I realised, I did nothing. Perhaps it was already too late, but I didn’t try.
These were not branches but emptiness, spreading cracks in reality. You’d expect to feel terror, but the mind adjusts, as if to an ache. I can admit only to curiosity about events.
Maybe the cracks will widen and something will come through.