HakutoRei000
He/Him- 1,169
- 266
Shards scattered across the sink and floor — dozens, hundreds of tiny reflections staring back at him.
In each fragment, a different Edward looked out — sneering, weeping, screaming — each with its own flicker of life.
There were so many of them it was impossible to count — an endless sea of his own faces, staring back with emotions he could no longer name.
In each fragment, a different Edward looked out — sneering, weeping, screaming — each with its own flicker of life.
There were so many of them it was impossible to count — an endless sea of his own faces, staring back with emotions he could no longer name.
“Hmph. The world… it’s something without a definite shape.”
“What?”
“Yeah. You know — it’s not a square, not a triangle, not even a circle.
It doesn’t have a form. It can be anything — grains of sand, crystals of salt… even countless shards of broken glass.”
[\SPOILER]
[\SPOILER]
“What?”
“Yeah. You know — it’s not a square, not a triangle, not even a circle.
It doesn’t have a form. It can be anything — grains of sand, crystals of salt… even countless shards of broken glass.”
[\SPOILER]
[\SPOILER]
World.
What is world?
The world is a construct of space — a vessel that holds all that is and all that was.
Yet unlike what many believe, the world has no boundaries, no final edge.
It is endless, like time itself.
For time cannot exist without space to cradle its flow,
and space, in turn, breathes only through the pulse of time.
But they are not one.
They are many —
as countless as the moments that have ever passed,
transfinitely expanding,
splintering like mirrors in eternal reflection,
each world birthing another, each moment containing the echo of a thousand more.
An infinite mosaic of realities, layered upon themselves,
forever chasing the shape of truth —
yet never finding it whole.
[\SPOILER]
What is world?
The world is a construct of space — a vessel that holds all that is and all that was.
Yet unlike what many believe, the world has no boundaries, no final edge.
It is endless, like time itself.
For time cannot exist without space to cradle its flow,
and space, in turn, breathes only through the pulse of time.
But they are not one.
They are many —
as countless as the moments that have ever passed,
transfinitely expanding,
splintering like mirrors in eternal reflection,
each world birthing another, each moment containing the echo of a thousand more.
An infinite mosaic of realities, layered upon themselves,
forever chasing the shape of truth —
yet never finding it whole.
[\SPOILER]
1. MWI?
2. Enough For 2-A or Low 1-C?
3. If traversed all in normal movement Immeasurable speed?
