#Like that's my mindspace and mental plane tag for a reason lmfaO

[abyssalpriest]

30 Days of Them #2

Your God comes to you in a dream one night when you are alone in your bed. They whisper something into your ear, lovingly - but it felt like a warning. What did They tell you?

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"There is nothing I could tell you that you don't already know."

I dream in the expanses of his mind in a place equally as strange as it is familiar. The walls ache with pressure, though perfectly vertical their imposing nature makes them seem to curve inwards, threateningly. They're dark bookshelves - that being the closest word in English, more like shallow compartments - endless little cubed shelves holding a strange array of... Cubes. Cubes of spirals but in four dimensions, as if the 2D line that encompasses a spiral's make-up was transmuted dramatically and inexplicably into 3D. They're all different, too, though the theme seems to be the same: little hand-sized cubes of varying levels of cohesion and self-similarity and symmetry. Some have colour, others don't, some are strangely triangular, some spirals flip direction, many have some sort of emanating - or imploding, or stationary, or spiralling, or whatever else - aura with them like 3D portals, visualisations of gravitational pulls and - he corrects me: "Writing." These auras are writing. "They're books."

He picks one off the shelf; his mood seems tinged with excitement as he holds it in his hand.

"Have a look." I - "I'll tell you what it is. Red. Inwards yet outwards. It wants to move outwards so it gives the appearance of moving outwards but it is a three-dimensional optical illusion. It is a 'sweet thing'. It is you. A cherry red. This -" he pulls back the scene behind him which had extended into these rows of compartments... Like a curtain. Compresses the scene into two dimensions and pulls it bunching the fabric of it's reality, revealing what seems to be the inside of one of these cubes. I feel the smile pull at his lips as I call it that. It's huge, though. It emanates, it contorts reality around it. It is deep, deep black encircled by a hungry, visceral, erogenous red.

"This is your warning." He implies with energy he means the thing behind the curtain is the warning. "Follow me."

With absolutely no hesitation he puts the cube he held back on its shelf and slips into the gravitational centre behind the curtain. I follow, of course I do, on the other side is -