Pinprick

Pinprick

I was working, when I felt a presence. All at once, my concentration was broken; my duties were interrupted. As important as my work, and my role as a Fate was,

By what, I did not know. I only knew that there was a disturbance behind me and to my left. So, slowly, cautiously, I turned my head. At first, I saw nothing. Yet, if one looked harder, saw as I saw, they would notice a miniature pinprick hovering in the air. It almost sparkled. Tentatively, I reached out for it. There was a weight to it, a presence, even though the pinprick couldn’t have been more than a micron in diameter. 

It pulsed as I touched it. I  knew that it was a miniature rift in reality. Stories of such things, if not common, were not rare when one was in my line of work and traveled in my circles. As arbiters of reality, things outside of it gave us pause. Rumors such as that of the rifts had become legends and ghost stories. As such, the reports were scattered and vague. They gave no warning, offered no advice, at least, none that I could recall. I jerked my hand away.

I possessed enough caution not to touch it again. After taking a second to compose myself, I focused once again on my desk. I did not take my work back up. Instead, I delved into research, looking for any hints on what to do with such an anomaly. Throughout my search for arcane secrets, the pinprick was always just behind me, as if it were watching me. Or rather, as if it were asking for my attention. A few times I could feel my left hand begin to drift behind me. Once it had almost reached the pinprick before I had the wherewithal to stop myself.

But, my will could not continue to hold. I should have left then when I had gotten so close to touching it. And yet, I didn’t. So, it shouldn’t have surprised me when I found my finger up against the pinprick. For some reason I cannot explain, I pulled on it. Inexorably, my finger dragged the pinprick downwards, opening a seam. What had once only been a tiny hole in reality,, had become a tear. It was about the length of an eyelash. And it taunted me.

Quickly I drew my hand away. I turned, trying to leave my study, trying to flee. But, inexorably, I was drawn back to my desk. I could not turn; I could not leave. And so, I threw myself into my work, trying to divine the secrets of the seam. No answers were forthcoming. And, whilst searching for answers about the pinprick, I was slowly prodding it, prying it, opening it further.

Once, when I lifted my head, I saw a half dozen other pinpricks dotted about the room. My jaw dropped, and fear gripped me. I did now know what I had done. There had been no mentions of this in any of our 

Again, I tried to leave. But, I found that not only could I not leave, I no longer wished to. No sooner had I stood up before I asked myself what reason was there to leave. The little rifts in reality had not harmed me, even when I had touched them, even as I had opened them. And the pinpricks were all beautiful. Although glancing at them again, I realized that each of the little pinpricks had also widened into a seam. I stared at them, entranced.

Soon enough, I sat down and returned to my work. I doubled my efforts and researched at a feverish pace. No longer was I aiming to close the rifts or handle them safely. Instead, I wished to understand the rifts, to know them as well as I knew myself. To aid in my research I began to work with the rifts themselves. 

The rifts responded well to my interaction with them. It always seemed that I had barely brushed one before it widened its maw. All about the room, seams appeared. The scene was quite beautiful, and I was entranced by the glowing, pulsating rifts. Their beauty and intrigue were such that I did not mind the feeling of being watched.

I was in a state of bliss, taking measurements of the rifts- their size, their luminosity, their rate of appearance, and the temperature in their near vicinity. I felt as if I had learned much. And, It seemed to me that days passed whilst I researched. My window, though now all but obscured by the rifts, had shown at least three days past according to my count. 

In that time, the rifts had grown so much. They were more numerous than the hairs on my head and had reached considerable sizes. After spending what must have been several hours nurturing and widening and measuring one of the smaller seams, so as to understand its complete life cycle, I went back to my desk to record my findings. But I found that my desk had been all but consumed by the seams. 

I stared at the spot where the first rift had appeared.

Whereas once it had been but a pinprick, the seam was wide open, like a doorway. There was only one thing left to do: I stepped into it.