The guests exchanged glances. A question ripened in I:

  — Should we exit through the opening up there, or enter the door to merge with the echo?

  You had no ideas, and so he bid farewell by running a hand across Bright You’s cheek and froze. One only had to wait a couple of heartbeats of the dance floor until it collapsed on its own.

  It understood correctly. A visitor’s intention is law for a service sphere that does not serve, does not obey, but embraces everyone who is kin to it.

  The floor gathered itself into blinds, and through it I and You dropped down.

  Stickiness.

  That was what characterized the fall.

  The structure resembled honey — not in taste, but in density and high fructose content. The bodies were enriched with all necessary nutrients and felt better. Strength increased, and thus it became more pleasant to fall into nowhere.

  — Stuck? — You asked.

  — How wonderful that would be. — I let slip dreamily.

  Unfortunately, the absence of desires and intentions leads to their fulfillment. They descended to the very bottom, where the structure looked especially constricting, and turned into a pale semblance of objects frozen in amber.

  The commonality echoed with fractals, which wandered with kerosene lanterns, holding them by the handle and lighting their way. Iterative patterns twisted and flared up from spontaneous combustion, flinging the lanterns away and then hurrying after them again. Geometry resisted impermanence and called for ordering.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  Two tightly stretched, pulsating veins beating within the integer lattice of multidimensional space were simply warming themselves. They were warm from the kerosene and cool from the fact that Ron — or the Feet of the entity once close to De, Ka, and Me — still could not learn to read.

  The LED screen encircling the frozen structures of I and You collapsed, unable to withstand the overload. Wiring smoked. The veins had to urgently engage and hack through the layer of I and You, reaching mental contact with the Thoughts.

  “Do you see Ron, or the Feet? He has unfinished business. De is gone, and there is no one left to read stories. Help him and give him a chance to acquire his Voice. Otherwise he will lose himself.”

  “No.” — You replied. — “Why would he need it if I don’t see him?”

  “Yes.” — I agreed. — “Why would he need it if I don’t hear him?”

  The veins grew angry and burst, flooding everything with sludge. It flowed and proclaimed:

  “Then there is a punishment for you. You will not be able to remain petrified figures here forever. You will be freed, and then you will have to continue the journey.”

  I and You pretended not to hear the threats, because they seemed too serious. One wanted to shut oneself off from them and pretend not to notice the danger of what was happening.

  The veins proved concrete in their warnings.

  The river began to seethe, and O.G. lowered her hood, seeing that her autonomous voyage was coming to an end. A whirlpool formed, absorbing everything: moisture, fish, and reeds. Grabbing the oar, the girl began rowing sideways, intending to skirt the threat.

  Waves washed over and spilled across the sides, flooding the boat. There was no way to tame the weather, and in a fit of despair O.G. directed her course straight into the hypnagogic abyss. Whatever happens. Since it was inevitable. At the same time she pulled out a landing net, intending to fish herself out, just in case.

  The whirlpool calmed down and gratefully let in the one who stopped resisting. They understood each other. Gently rocking in its coils, she rested her head on the edge and watched far below — her recent fellow passengers from the bus. Her hands, meanwhile, acted decisively.