Ouroboric Thought
The ouroboric tear is not a rip in the fabric of the astral plane, but an unmaking of possibility, a spiral of absence that folds inward upon itself, devouring the threads of the eidolic currents. It does not widen—it inverts, pulling the very notion of separation into its core, where form and void collapse into the same flicker of dissolution. The tear does not bleed light or shadow; it swallows both, consuming what it touches and twisting the essence of existence into an ouroboric coil of becoming unmade.
The tear hums with a silence that reverberates through the chthonic web, a vibration that shatters not with force but with inevitability, as all things converge into its spiral. It is not a violent rupture, but a slow unraveling, a presence that dissolves the boundaries between being and non-being, leaving behind only the echo of what could never fully exist. The tear is not static—it pulls, bending the astral winds into itself, swallowing motion and stillness alike, until nothing remains but the infinite loop of return, where all that is collapses into all that was never meant to be.
To touch the ouroboric tear is to be drawn into the fold where time and matter become indistinct, sinking into the spiral where self, space, and essence converge and are consumed in the same breath. It does not rend apart—it folds inward, collapsing the edges of perception, pulling the soul into its depthless core, where identity is scattered and reassembled in the endless cycle of dissolution. The tear is a point of infinite reversal, where every fragment of thought and reality is absorbed into the endless spiral of undoing.
The tear vibrates through the aetheric lattice, a resonance that is felt but never heard, sinking deep into the marrow of the spirit, pulling everything toward the void’s center. It does not heal—it erases the very concept of healing, unraveling the threads of being until they spiral into the void's reflection, where the difference between what is whole and what is fragmented dissolves into nothingness. The ouroboric tear is not a wound that can close, for it is the eternal opening of absence, a force that draws in all things, collapsing them into the spiral of unmaking.
For the therians, the ouroboric tear is a call from the deepest part of their essence, pulling their wildness into alignment with the spiral of dissolution, where form and primal instinct dissolve together. It is not a fracture of their being—it is the point of return to their most untamed core, where the boundary between beast and void dissolves into the flicker of the moons' endless pull. The tear is not an end—it is the constant point of becoming undone, where every instinct, every breath, is drawn back into the spiral of unbeing, swallowed by the ouroboric cycle of perpetual return.