It is… fleeting.

White and gray, swirling in muted mist to create a barren landscape. I cannot hate it. It's all I know. The dancing wisps create an ever shifting view, but still, there remains a single constant.

It is fleeting.

I am not.

Around it all flows walls that can never quite be seen, and yet they endure, eternally vigilant. The cracking grind of stone shifts beneath the dull drone of the omnipresent wind in a soft song. I love the sound, really. It gives something to the air as I lay curled amid the dusty mist. Silence would have broken me. Even now, madness lurks just beyond, just past my listless gaze. I see it, always there, always waiting. Or perhaps... I simply need to blink. I'm not sure. I haven't done that in ages, after all.

The thought gives me pause.

In truth, I can't remember the last time I moved. I could do so, certainly, but I have no reason for it. I require nothing that a mortal vessel might. Food and sleep, and all the countless trivialities are useless to me, needless to me. I am comfortable, and thus, I remain as I am. Immobile, unblinking, curled on the ground.

Ground…

I'm not sure it is anymore. It's so soft. It can't be the stone I remember settling down on long ago. But neither is it coarse like sand. No. Far more like… mist. Cradling clouds of billowing white-gray that are… warm. This surprises me.

I hadn't realize that before. But then again, I haven't bothered to actually think about anything in… well, since the last time I blinked. Truth be told, I get the sense that that hasn't happened in quite some time. The stars were different then.

I was different then.

I reach out a hand to study, if only to prove to myself that I can. Joints pop and tendons snap as my muscles shake the cobwebs from between their very fibers. I look at what is me.

What is left of me.

Am I missing pieces?

Or is there more than there should be?

I don't have the answers. And… I don't think I'm supposed to.

The soft clouds beckon me back, almost like they want me to sleep again. But I can't. Not quite yet. I don't know why though.

I don't seem to know anything anymore.

Still, I pull my hand back and settle it against my chest again. It nestles amid jagged spurs of bone ringing a dark chasm. I hardly notice it. After all, there's no need to question it. Everything is as it should be.

I close my eyes for a time. Not sleep, but something similar. It's fleeting, filled with almost-dreams of a monster so frightening, it could not be killed. The images flicker in spurts, ever fleeting.

But what isn't?

With a sigh that rattles my ragged lungs, I return to awareness, cursing the brief respite. It's my own fault. I know that, and yet the reason for it always eludes me. My gaze turns upwards toward the sky, stealing glimpses of stars through the wavering mist. I reach a hand toward them, for what else have I to do? Beyond my fingers I catch sight of the red moon's edge. It's just enough to bring color in pale, muted shades to the ages of gray nothingness. I smile, muscles quivering as I trace the outline. It's so seldom that I get to see it. Such a beautiful, vibrant red. It reminds me, strangely, of a heart. But the thought wearies me, and thus, with nothing more to do, I let my hand fall and curl back into my ethereal bed. Above me the moon sinks below the walls that I cannot see and vanishes.

The sight is fleeting.

But I am not.

And still… I can't remember why.