A nervous quiet pervades these places. It pervades the people. It sinks through the silt like long awaited rains. It’s in the land itself— though nothing sticks. Not even the rains. Not even a name. Whatever they’d called this place was long forgotten— in the night it seemed day itself forgot it.

The villagers are afraid to become something than a whisper. They tremble between the edges of life like a window-side flame.

There are consequences to tearing a hole in the universe. Death proved too kind a fate for whoever fate chose to remain in the unmarked place beyond the maps.