Delirium -nikraria- Today

She is not hunting you.

That was Day One of Delirium. By Day Three, the walls of Nikraria began to breathe. Not metaphorically. I pressed my palm to the plaster, and I felt a slow, wet inhalation. The city, I realized, was a single organism. The canals were its veins. The bell towers were its teeth. The people? We were just fleas dancing on a hot skillet. Delirium -Nikraria-

On the second night, I woke to find my left hand writing in a language I did not know. The letters were spirals. Snail-shell sentences. It wrote: “The spine is a ladder. The blood is a staircase. Climb down.” I burned the page. My hand wrote it again on the wall in ash. She is not hunting you

Instead, I walked to the Spire of Unwound Clocks. At the top, I found a room with no door. I had to break through a wall that tasted of gingerbread and grief. Inside sat an old man weaving rope from his own beard. He did not look up. Not metaphorically