Consciousness is a spectrum. When you are awake you are at the highest point of that spectrum, when you are dreaming you're a bit further down, when you are fully unconscious you are even further down. But what happens when one's consciousness is split across multiple points on the spectrum? It is possible to be both conscious, subconscious, and superconscious. A rare occurrence, but still possible. But perceptive superposition isn't the only deviation from the typical states of consciousness. A spectrum doesn't need to be one-dimensional. Instead of moving down or up, there can be a movement to the right or left. When this happens, you move away from consciousness, yet you are circumconscious instead of subconscious. Then you can move forward or back, seeing either the beginning or the end. Seeing where you were before you came into existence, or seeing where you will go when that existence ends. A thin veneer exists between the beginning and end, but if you tread carefully, you can go to the Sands of Time. You must go through subliminal limbo and retrieve The Needle.
Something went wrong. Something went deeply wrong. You mis-stepped and fell from the painted path into an inky ichor inside a place which gives you a strange feeling. It's quite similar to Deja Vu, but it is distinctively something else. What is this feeling? You don't feel like you've been here before, yet you're able to remember when you'll come back, even though it hasn't happened yet. It's a terrifying yet comforting feeling. You are both paralyzed with fear and unwilling to move because you feel at home. This is where you'll go when you die. But it isn't time yet. You pull out an angel's feather, you don't know where you got it, but it shines your light. The same light Candlebright emits. You dip the feather into the ichor. "And then, she rewrites the tale." But your ink doesn't form letters, instead it mixes with the white page of your notebook turning gray. Everything turns gray. And then you find yourself in a monochrome playground, the same one just a few blocks away from your house. You look around. It's the city you live in, but it's colorless. You see a note in handwriting which belongs to you but was neither written by your dominant hand nor your act. It reads, "Curiosity killed the cat, but don't cats have nine lives? How about you live one, instead of wilting like an unwatered poppy." You feel uneasy, this is the end of your journey, yet somehow you know you can rise from the ashes like a phoenix.
