Dance Of Reality [LATEST]

Aanya looked up. “Aunty,” she said, “why are there three of you?”

Her colleagues grew worried. Her few friends grew distant. She was becoming thin, translucent, as if the constant shifting between worlds was eroding the boundaries of her self. dance of reality

Mémé had known. That was why she had danced only in brief, stolen moments, alone in the kitchen, never stepping fully through. That was why she had pressed her finger to her lips and said nothing. Aanya looked up

But Aanya had shown her something else. The dance was not freedom. It was a kind of death, too. Every step into another reality was a step away from this one. Every parallel self she visited was a self she was not fully becoming. She had scattered herself across the multiverse like a dropped tray of glass. She was becoming thin, translucent, as if the

Elena stared at the screen. Then she looked at her hands.

And then she was there.

She grew adept. She grew reckless.