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Summary
“What is that?” His breath fogs the glass, eyes round and wide with wonder. He hastily shoves his glasses onto his nose and blinks in the spectacle, awed.
It’s a glorious phenomenon — just as bright and red as the Petrova Line, the length of it twisted around the ship and into itself like some kind of cosmic twizzler. The end of it appears tethered to the horizon, body undulating like a cosmic silly string waving in the breeze. It sparkles with interwoven crystals made of starlight, shimmers blinking in and out of focus with flashes of rose and scarlet. Alluring… Beckoning.
Follow me, it whispers in his head in a voice he doesn’t recognize. Find him.
In which the universe ensures the lost and forsaken are found in the end.