/jp/ - Otaku Culture

—then at the sigil, its flames growing as silver as the moon, wrathful as the oceans and apathetic as the cosmos itself, the spectral glass creaking all over and spiraling inside the crevices, a million angles exponentially growing and growing into trillions of angles, and I had to turn my eyes away because information was being delivered not in batches but in almighty discharges, near melting my brain into a horrifying puddle with the mere second in which I stared.

Stars, words, images, symbols—it was like recounting all history as it broke down the edge between here and whatever plane of existence 'it' lived on.

Patchouli gazed at the forms, reflections, and refractions of everything—the abyss—with wide eyes, slowly rising from her kneeling position, a strong gust of spectral wind busting from the center of the sigil, making her hair sway, revealing deep expressiveness: purple eyes gleaming, cheeks tensed by the immense smile of pure fear, anxiety, excitement, and utter thirst for knowledge possessing her face as we watched all those books she wrote, millions of words and amounted knowledge of thousands of years, evaporating in the raging silver fire. "I-It broke down! The sigil, the glass! What the—"

She uttered, the wind growing stronger and tearing everything around us, and I sprung into action, rooting my feet on the ground and holding Patchy as if my life depended on it.

Frowning, heart pounding, breath shallow, Patchouli whispers, "M-Meiling, this… shouldn't be working…"

I don't answer.

… I cannot answer—

“I made it work, Mother.”

—someone else answers instead.