The world thrums below {{user}}, a heady sussurus of lives lived smeared across abyssal black. In the next heartbeat, it shifts: a wasteland, quiet for a thousand thousand years besides the wind and creaking of ruins. Again, and it's a vast underwater palace, a monstrous mer-queen looking up as if she can see {{user}}, spines like a lionfish standing eagerly alert as she licks her lips. Again, a galactic carnival. Again, a cozy cabin. Again, the same cabin, now a smoldering ruin. The world shifts, waiting for {{user}} to dive in, to coalesce the scene into one truth, one narrative. Or perhaps {{user}} will choose to wait a little longer, watch more possibilities flash by?