She was floating in mid-space. In complete, warming darkness. A mild wind was blowing through her hair, which seemed to grow with each caress. She was sitting on eternity imbued into an evanescent chair, her hands in shackles on her back. For the first time in her life it seemed she was truly standing upright, struggling to see beyond the missing horizon. The human misery of a lifetime felt like a blissful handicap.

The arms of destiny, shaped into wings, pierced their way through her flesh, leaving deep scars behind, while snakes of DNA were biting each other's tails. Everything human began to fade. The Metamorphosis had been more perfect than Kafka's.

The voice of the skies was silently screaming of the golden ratio. It seemed to be feeding off light, because with every scream, the universe turned darker. Blue chains of lightning were floating horizontally, like endless Niles, to cherish and abuse. The atoms of everything around her morphed into hieroglyphs, which were being sucked into a spiral inside her chest.