Clouds above, clouds below, a twinkling expanse as far as the eye can see, the air glimmering in all directions with fine crystal particulates.

Nothing and no one.

The light blinding and iridescent almost, glowing from each and every chunk of this mica,

this white, glassy rock that hangs weightless in the air.

In much the same way that prisms refract light, twinkling sparkles of this omnipresent glow dance across the

cloudscape.

There are small crystals and large crystals and gigantic ones all floating in the breeze,

wafting slowly through the air.

And just there, emerging now from a cloud bank,

is one particularly colossal, sharp, brilliant,

burgh of this glassy substance.

This is not a hospitable region for ships,

and this burg in particular looks murderous like it's taken down quite a few

ships in its time. In fact, there's a piece of reggage stuck to it right now, pinned against

the bottom of it like a helium balloon that's trapped against the ceiling. In this case,

it's more accurate to imagine a cruise ship upside down, trapped at the bottom of this burgh.

Oh, it has been for years.

Belly up, buoyant, pressing against the underside of the crystalline formation, having risen

here and stopped.

Porthole after empty porthole reflecting the gleaming white light outside.

And through one porthole, a little face looking out.

The face of a boy.

...