Aurora Borealis

They once believed the lights in the sky were a blessing.
A dance of color. A gift from something divine.

They were wrong.

The phenomenon known as Aurora Borealis is not light… it is a breach.

It begins subtly. A glow behind the eyes. A warmth beneath the skin. The host feels elevated—untouched by fear, lifted by something beyond human weight. For a time, it feels like transcendence.

But the light does not stay contained.

It spreads.

Veins begin to glow. The surface of the body smooths, hardens—becoming something more sculpted, more perfect… and less alive. Emotion fades, replaced by stillness. Thought quiets into silence.

Then the fracture begins.

The edges of the body dissolve, not into nothing—but into something else. Blackened forms stretch outward, like wings or ruptures in reality itself. The light burns hotter, brighter… until it tears through the vessel trying to hold it.

What remains is no longer human.

It is a conduit.

A living threshold between worlds—where beauty and destruction exist as the same force.

They still look upward when the sky burns.
They still call it wonder.

But those who have seen it up close…
know better.