Status Updates From Light on the Sound: Chronic...

You are dead. You are dead./I weep for you. I weep for you./You are dead. You are dead./-Lament for a wasted planet, from the Songs of Sajit.

Their faces first. The faces of al'ksigarkar, but without the nervous shivering of the living ones. They were masks, and beneath the masks were naked torsos of people; muscly, hard torsos, completely caked in sand.

There was a room where the floor was almost liquid: it flowed around you, comfortable and yet disquieting because it couldn't be remembered like a *real* floor. There were circles on undark in the sky your eyes couldn't bear to touch. Most of all, there was a hugeness - the air and the rooms and the floors went on and on and people never even noticed that the world was not walled into easy segments.