Like a thin ribbon of smoky perfume, the words stretch and are swallowed by the black nothingness embracing them both.

--

Know then, the allegory of the Lamp.

The rounds of engirding gloom…

Something he had read and something, a portion of which, he had written. 

Yet to find fruition, the piece drifted across the unending dark at the tip of Umins nose as he did his best to keep pace with Pyna. 

Only her naked, snow-pale feet are visible, padding without sound, some distance ahead, leading them without surcease through a winding, impenetrable labyrinth.