The grey is torn open and colours bleed everywhere. Shapes and forms and scribbles coalesce and break apart, like a artist's sketchbook come alive and malicious, somehow. Like it can and will swallow you whole. Errant objects appear and disappear, as if figments of imagination only. Light sources from nowhere flicker and fizzle out. Slowly, it begins to stabilize, the chaos organizing itself. Into a world of shifting purple. Into the shape of a cat, fur long, soft, and the colour of light cream. At the curve of their wrist is a small, yellowish marking. It glows faintly, in the shape of a sun. At their neck, hanging from necklace made from thin, golden string, is a stone. It is a dark, bloody red. One side is smooth, glassy, the other jagged and sharp. They stare up at you. "I am CaIIingstar." She smiles, a little too widely. "And I sense you are lost. Perhaps you would like some help?"
