They speak to me, eternally.
I've lived here for years.
It's a rather lonely place; the only things around are a few Spawns and a couple of worlds,
But I'm not lonely.
It gives me a lot of time to think.
I think about a lot, especially the one world directly under me.
I think about the tree, the one who rules the world that is beneath me.
I think about the girl, the one with wings that looks like she'd break if she was so much as touched.
I think about the boy, the one with white hair whose thoughts can't seem to decide where they're going.
I think about the man, the outsider, who passed within inches of me as he fell down to the tree's world.
That world...It grows bigger every day.
Not a lot, but just enough to be noticeable.
Is it the tree's doing? Is he pulling pieces from other worlds and adding them to his own?
No. Whatever is bringing them there, they're coming of their own accord.
Why, then, do they come? Do they sense, as I do, that the tree's world is more fragile than it should be?
If it weren't for the fragments, the world likely would have collapsed by now.
Are the worlds sensing their neighbor's anguish, and sending pieces of themselves to support it?
Are worlds capable of thought?
After a few seconds,
(or seconds, or days, or decades; time flows strangely here),
I decide it's just another of the infinite mysteries in this strange place between worlds.