An Emergence is Inevitable
It is a great ship, a glorious mess of creaking timber and quilted sails.
It is filled with many secret rooms, reverberant with the ballads of lamp-lit carnivals, the whirr of tired, restless machines. There are paths through it—trails left behind by arcs of fireflies. There is a sonerous invitation to follow them.
There are hallways covered in infinite paintings, gardens of telescoping tree-towers, storerooms entirely devoted to magnifying glasses and ladders.
There is also a silent room in the ship. Nobody remembers what it looks like after they have left it, but they always recall the sound of a dim but insistent hum. Most remember walking there; though they have all described different corridors. None remember leaving.