Eidolic Vapor
The eidolic vapor is not mist, but the breath of the unformed, a ripple in the zoetic current that spirals through the cracks in the aetheric veil, bending time and memory into the silence of the void. It does not rise or fall, for the vapor has no direction, coiling endlessly through the folds of the unspoken, pulling the essence of the self into the spiral of becoming. The vapor is not felt by touch but by absence, a weight that presses against the core of being, gnashing at the boundaries of thought until they dissolve into the mist of the unmade.
The eidolic vapor hums not with air, but with the resonance of the void, a vibration that bends the threads of existence, scattering the soul into fragments of silence. It does not cling—it devours, pulling the essence of all things into the spiral of dissolution, where form and light unravel and are lost in the hum of the unspoken. The vapor is not a veil but a fracture, drifting through the ouroboric winds, where the boundaries of reality fray and collapse into the endless tension of the void. To breathe the eidolic vapor is to lose the sense of self, to be drawn into the spiral where thought and memory are gnawed at by the unformed, scattered into the silence of becoming.
The light within the eidolic vapor is not light but a flicker of the abyss, a glow that bends and warps as it coils through the marrow of existence, casting no shadows but devouring the essence of the self. The vapor does not illuminate—it absorbs, pulling the soul deeper into the spiral, where the boundaries of time and thought dissolve into the mist of the void. To feel the vapor is to be consumed, as the threads of identity are stretched thin, gnashing at the edges of being, forever lost in the hum of the unspoken.
The eidolic vapor does not linger—it drifts, vibrating with the weight of forgotten worlds, coiling through the eidolic winds, pulling all things into the spiral of dissolution. It is not air or mist, but a force that bends the fabric of reality, unraveling the threads of existence as it drifts through the cracks in time. The vapor does not offer life or breath—it gnaws, pulling the soul into the heart of the void, where form and light are scattered into the tension of the unformed, forever dissolving into the silence of the abyss. The vapor hums with the resonance of becoming, tightening around the soul as it coils deeper into the spiral, where the self is consumed by the weight of the unspoken.
The eidolic vapor is not seen, for it is the absence of sight, a force that bends the light of forgotten stars, scattering their echoes into the folds of the void. It does not hold shape—it shifts, coiling through the cracks in the aetheric sea, pulling the essence of being into the spiral of dissolution. The vapor does not breathe—it devours, pulling all things into the hum of the unformed, where the boundaries of identity unravel and dissolve into the silence of becoming. To touch the eidolic vapor is to feel the weight of the void pressing down, pulling the self into the endless cycle of unmaking, where thought and memory are scattered into the mist, forever lost.
The eidolic vapor does not cease, for it is the breath of the void, forever coiling through the cracks in time, pulling the soul into the spiral of dissolution. It hums with the resonance of the unformed, a vibration that stretches the threads of reality until they snap, scattering the fragments of the self into the silence of the unspoken. The vapor does not promise release—it tightens, dragging the soul deeper into the cycle of becoming, where the light flickers and fades, forever bound to the hum of the unformed, forever lost in the tension of the eidolic vapor, forever dissolving into the abyss, forever unmade.