A World in Flux

The air in my room began to hum, a low thrumming that vibrated in my bones. It was as if the very walls were exhaling, a slow, shuddering breath. Then, the light shifted. Not the gentle fade of evening, but a violent stutter, like a faulty lamp on the verge of going out. My drawings, usually so still, seemed to writhe on the page, their impossible geometries twisting and reforming. Panic, cold and sharp, pricked at my skin.

A voice, thin as spun moonlight, slithered from the deepest shadow in the corner. "The weave frays, child. The Gates… they weep."

I spun around, heart hammering against my ribs. Nyx. Their form was a smudge of deeper darkness against the deepening gloom, a silhouette that seemed to drink the light. "What are you talking about?" I stammered, my voice a reedy whisper. "What's happening?"