Hues
## True Name — 2350 I see the world in new hues. I see Ioan and May Then My Name sitting together on the bed, cross-legged and touching. I do not think they even realize that they are doing so, that they have set their hands next to the other's,...
Opportunity paralysis
## Rena Hatch — 2368 I thought it would be different. I thought it would be cleaner, maybe. Cleaner, or far more grimy, all exposed pipes and puddles of unexplained liquids pooling in dark corners while the brittle lighting of shitty fluorescents...
Forest of Ghosts
That is part of the fun~ this is part of the post-self setting, a world of uploaded consciousnesses. you can read more about it at [https://post-self.ink](https://post-self.ink) "you go first."
Reading
All readings are the same. They all begin the same way, with stepping off to some sim, known or unknown, where she would arrive a good hour early. There, she would wait or walk or drink her coffee or tea. Would it be a bookshop this time? Would it be a...
Motes Played — Chapter 3
Motes played. Today, she played prey. Today, she was a mouse to some fox, some owl, some cunning predator. She crept and crawled at first, prowling through the brush and between the trunks of trees. She stuck to where the pine needles made a thick...
Motes Played — Chapter 1
She died at play, Gamboled away Her lease of spotted hours, Then sank as gaily as a Turk Upon a Couch of flowers. Her ghost strolled softly o'er the hill Yesterday, and Today, Her vestments as the silver...
Motes Played — Chapter 5
Motes stopped playing. She stopped playing because, some weeks later, she was out with some friends, some of the others who had decided to give up on grown-up life now that they were here, now that they were decades old or centuries, now that they...
Motes Played — Chapter 4
Motes played. She played on precipices. She played along the knife's edge. She played at the point of a sword, at the barrel of a gun. She played with death. She– No. Motes was played _with._ She was toyed with. She was dangled by the...
Prophecies
## Slow Hours — 2401 To step into The Bean Cycle was to be immediately assailed by sound. There was, as to be expected, the clink of glasses and muted howl of steam wands bringing milk up to temperature, but mixed in was the clatter and clicking...