I had a home once. A manor overlooking the sea. Upon the world this was a vestige, calling forward onto strangled ears. But when skies turned dark, the house was taken by the sea. A pillar, truncated. Cast down to the seabed with all the other forgotten things.

But I remember.

Fleeting shells, sinking ever slowly, folding downwards into themselves, forever tearing along the seams of the sky until nothing remains except the eternal ghost, and you ask yourself: could there ever be anything greater than this.

(They have always been there.)