"Not every end is the goal. The end of a melody is not its goal, and yet if a melody has not reached its end, it has not reached its goal."
-Friedrich Nietzsche
You wandered into this cave on a whim. Well, not exactly a whim - it looked so inviting, and it had been a long time since you started out. The plush, black walls give only a muted echo of the melody that otherwise seems almost ubiquitous in your land. The cavern itself is lit by a series of glowing crystals on pedestals, each a different shade of luminescent color. Or are they? Closer inspection reveals them to be a sort of three-dimensional embroidery, carefully and craftfully stitched into rounded crystalline shapes. The light they emit seems to hum, fluctuating, making them appear to twinkle against the inky black backdrop of the walls of the cave.
You gently prod one of them - a rustic, orange color, earthy but with hints of gold. As you do, you hear a chord ring out tentatively from the softly glowing thread, echoing off the other crystals, quieter and quieter. You tap another crystal, this time a sort of burgundy with a hexagonal pattern. Its chord is hollow and jarring, and makes your teeth grit as it is multiplied throughout the cave. Your hand reaches instinctively for your LOUISVILLE DAISYLACKER, and you smash the offending singing-weave with a satisfying SMACK. A very satisfying smack. Maybe too satisfying of a smack. You grip the bat in both hands and give a righteous swing at another, this one a frightful shade of marbled olive. It bursts into pieces, but not before letting off a simple, light arpeggio that rings fruitfully throughout the cave. The next one, a mottled grey, produces such a solid THUMP and resounding power chord that as it resolves, you sigh a little. Letting loose like this after walking so far on the velvet terrain is relaxing. And relaxation is a powerful thing.
One crystal stands out to you, though. A sky-blue teardrop the size of your hand seems to blink in and out, almost in some sort of pattern. As you approach it, you see its structure is woven helically, carefully contoured to reflect the light of its compatriots. When you nudge it, however, it doesn't ring at all. Out of some sense of belonging, you decide to captchalogue it, placing it in your purse for later. You look around at the the other pedestals clustered throughout the cave, and cock your trusty bat on your shoulder with a small grin. Now, where were you?
