“Whaill was wandering carelessly around the workshop castle before a random tear into reality opened. The omnipotent hand of god illuminated a blinding, staggering shade of blue, dragging them into an unknown island in another dimension.”
“The floor was sticky and it slowly made whaill sink down, their feet are almost completely drowned in the unknown goo. God’s hand gently placed its hand down onto whaill and whispered softy: “aren’t the plants here so beautiful?”, almost as if it knew the cruel irony that is, whaill had no eyes whatsoever. There was no smell that indicated floral or plant matter at all, but whaill still wondered if there were actually plants there. Stomping in the mulching ‘mud’ cautiously, searching for any signs of life… there was none. Lively or barren, lovely or desolate - it never mattered. Nothing but isolation and deprived of anything interesting - just black and blank, the only thing that whaill could ‘see’.”
“On the thumb of the hand-like island there was a weird contraption. Who knew what it could do? - whaill still wondered where they were. The god picked up whaill by the scruff of their neck, like a cat. Placing them in centre of the strange machinery, then pushing Whaill down it with just its finger.”
“Never to be one again, only continuously being divided into two.”
