"Boundless and bare." The verse were pulled backwards as Shockwave yielded himself to be guided forwards into an encompassing void that tugged white and blinding at the corners of his vision. Until nothing.

Until it broke away into sensations new and old. Fabricated but easily to delude oneself into accepting a sort of grounded reality to it that beckoned him like the first sinner. Shockwave was slow to respond before he opened his eye; his eyes - pale and wet to the light an infant sun.

It was an open room. Furniture set against a single wall with molding and design that was as if someone sucked all the color out of a late baroque styled room and dropped it in the middle of a white lit beach on a green-blue water beach shore. Shockwave pulled one leg over the other with hands knitted loose in his lap without sign of dissociation from this form from the original. Cold mixing with the fragile warmth beneath the surface.

"You never struck me as having rococo sensibilities."