A ship needed a crew.
This was true no matter its size, no matter its design, no matter its materials. A large, mighty ship needed a large, hearty crew. A small ship may need only one man. This ship was large enough to need many and by many it was crewed. Except for that wasn't the case at all.
When water gave way to dirty and clay, the ship sailed through those. When the world itself turned sideways, the ship traveled upwards. When the world started to tilt further, it was anchored safely and while it swayed and leaned, it did not move. It was moored. It was waiting.
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She should feel lucky. She should feel blessed. The world did not tilt for everyone, after all.
Gloria Wynsee was a complex young woman. Her understanding was to be found in the midst of a forest, one shrouded by mist. Perhaps that would be alright if she was not from completely different climes. Perhaps, though, that was what made her kindred to Myrken.
The world did not tilt for everyone, no, but when it tilted too far, the path of least resistance could become the only path possible. That was the case here. The strange brown bark underneath her feet had once offered her choice. She could go forward. She could go back. Now, there was too much of an incline. It was not dangerous, save for in one way. If she began to start climbing back the way she came, it would become steeper. It was forcing her towards a down that was once forward that was once up. The stars told the tale, for she could see them in front of her instead of above. Perhaps that would not be strange were it not for the downward stumble that life was forcing upon her. If she fell forward, if she gave up her footing altogether, if she tried to climb back until the incline was absolute, would she then fall into that bouquet of never-attainable light?
Life was making the choice easy. It was, as always, she that made it hard.