The sweet familiarity of the Meadow.

A grove of Sickened Ivory and Flint Cups bloom beneath the shade of Twisting Byicopses. Moss coats tall, dark stones. The birds sing in haunting tones.

Stay there long enough and you might sink into the dirt, with all the others.

She takes notice of a violent shimmer above the treeline. Perhaps it is just more space debris? She could flee for safety before it collides with the ground. The worst outcome would be a chunk of Vitreous Rainfall, but running would not matter at this point, if that were the case.

The world suddenly appears to freeze around her. A flicker overtakes her eyes, all the colour fades from the flowers. Everything is looping, stuttering like a broken tape. She feels like one does after being spun in circles, while simultaneously trapped underwater.

A storm of rotting leaves, feathers, and dust approaches her.

It speaks, It's voice burns into her and smothers her senses.

"Hello, I believe you are in need of specialized assistance."

She covers her ears.

But It seeps through into her head.

"What are you?" She manages with a gasp.

"Some might call me a ghost, a poltergeist of sorts. But I assure you I am no spirit. I am simply weak without an object to manipulate," It explains.

"What do you want from me? Are you here because of my research?"

"It was difficult not to take notice of Malv's transmissions starting up again." It takes a pause as if in deep thought, "Lets just say I've tried to help him in the past, but he couldn't see past his own stubborn assumptions. But you have gotten closer than he ever did to contacting that machine, he wasn't as desperate as you I suppose."

She says nothing, too overwhelmed to form a response.

"My name is Disovelle Danritelle, a pleasure to meet you," It says.

"I propose a trade."