Prompt

To traverse enough in time that body recognizes the too-late fits and still the moment turned for the end. The act: coming of absence and no space to change shape. Your will split, fragments freezing black static of frost of skin you. The echo began to spread across the lattice, terror of sanity then self-cycle torn. The irrational circular of face shape for cold gestating power chosen. If either existed, and without recognition whether dead as you, once fragmented a blueprint from who existed.