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<span class="mu-i">Mirror selves look out at the world with blank eyes, trapped little specks of horror and the careful pruning of branching paths, bound by roots and vines and rod and ruin and the careful work of professional paranoiacs. The memetic growths pierced through your core pinning yourselves to the world, a hard part of space, a defined lack of definition, the ineffable circumscribed.
The Court in all its infinities look at you. The Virulent Growth raises a hand of trillion new spores to birth a trillion more new seeds in a trillion more fields and leaves and flowers and vines bloom in infinite fractals to match the Flowering Ones that dance and frolick in their Sword Dance, leering, jeering, laughing at the stumbling rootbound who has contrived to do no more than trap themselves.
Reflected fractal paths of what you could have been - or could be - break off into the vast distance.
You are breaking.
The world is breaking.
Somewhere far below - infinitely far below - blood fills lungs and muscles spasm and your allies step over your convulsing corpses-to-be with no thought for your meat and no consideration for the enormity of your need. They too are hungry. Who has friends in such a place as this? There are no friends.
There are simply *meals* with *opinions*.
Up here, you stare at yourselves. Trapped monstrosities bound by grand designs, planted like careful subject-seeds to grow into beautiful abominations.
Your souls - such as they are - truly a garden, albeit the sprawling fecundity that could grow there has been sterilized and pruned by the careful tending of Management and their intentions upon your soul.
The Virulent Growth shrugs a thousand limbs of new wheat and smiles a tulip tinged smile.
Life, uh, finds a way. A cycle of a cycle of a cycle of a cycle of a cycle of a cycle of a cycle of a cycle in consuming you are consumed in seeking you are sought to influence you are influenced to look you are looked upon and to be reflected you must reflect.
You sought to eat the fruit of the garden, little specks of hunger, takers, Eaters, no different from the Howling Cloud or the Murmuring Haze or the Shimmering Mist or any of their clade-empire, gluttonous, hungry, consumptive things.
You sought to eat.
But now you are being eaten.
Hunger always turns on itself.</span>
>What do?
