Realities' river flowed endlessly in a void beyond all voids, its currents shifting fabrics of eternity itself.

The void stretched as far as any wandering soul could possibly discover into unending dark, yet within it the river had emerged from the stuff of dreams to whisper guidance into ears now forever listening. The river's shores were formed of realities shifting into mist, forever flux and change.

And here, drifting with his pole through a mystical sea of possibility, came an old man. For ages beyond counting, he had voyaged here, silently casting for fish, these fishes are abominable creatures that devours realities taking form.

As usual, the old man drifted on his old weary boat, silently waiting. He gave his line a satisfied tug, feeling the familiar weight of a fish on the line. He reeled it in slowly, noticing immediately how the fish seemed to be shouting and flailing as if in distress.

As the creature broke the surface, the old man mused. It was no fish but rather a soul, blinking and shouting in panic. The soul seemed almost human in form, but where its body should be was a jagged, torn edge of reality itself, flickering and breaking apart.

It appeared the soul had escaped from some destroyed world, although a rare occurrence, the old man has witnessed this happen many times before.

The old man stared at the soul in curiosity and comprehension. Once again, imagination's streams had manifested reality itself in all its profundity. Here was a truth made manifest: that souls could escape shattered worlds, tumbling into others that might, or might not, prove more eternal.

He grasped the soul firmly, examining it as it continued shouting and struggling. He saw within its eyes a reflection of reality bending and breaking, echoes of a world torn asunder. It seemed this soul had escaped from its dying world as a final desperate act, hoping to escape annihilation at the cost of losing all that was familiar.

When the soul saw its surging reflection in the old man's eyes, it seemed to realize with dawning horror the truth of its fate. Its shouts and struggles intensified, as if fighting for a life now forever lost.

The old man regarded the soul with deep sorrow and understanding. He knew the tales this soul could tell of its former world, and the lessons it embodied of change that came swift and without mercy.

Yet here in this stream, new possibilities still flowed forever onward. He turned to the soul and in a gentle voice said, "Fear not. The current will bear you on to new shores, and new adventures yet to be found."

And with that, he released his grip. The soul tumbled down into the stream of reality, plopping under the surface and being swept away into the unknown.

The old man sighed, knowing that somewhere, in some other world, that soul's journey would start anew. So too in life's unfoldings, truth found form only to slip endlessly into mystery.

-

Hans drifted here and there, and the abyssal void stretched endlessly in all directions. A darkness that was the negation of light itself, it seemed to seep into his essence the longer he drifted, seeking to consume his soul as mercilessly as any hungering beast.

Only the river, and the realities it bore, prevented the void from claiming him utterly. As Hans turned in a slow, endless spin, the river manifested worlds of almost delirious wonder and beauty, mingled with horror.

Crystalline trees of gold rose from oceans of purple mercury, forested with alien spires as delicate as spun glass. Worlds where history had taken altogether different turns, leaving ruins that seemed dreamed rather than hewn of stone. Ruins that shifted and stretched taloned fingers into the void as if yearning to pull themselves free.

Each world arose from the river like a bubble, held together for the space of a breath before popping into oblivion. Creations born for the sole purpose of dying, a maddened kaleidoscope dancing to a rhythm Hans could not discern.

At times the gloom of the void itself seemed to reach for the river, shadows gathering like drowning claws seeking to rend with screaming fury each reality they might ensnare. Hans shuddered at the thought of those claws closing around him, dragging him down into the formless abyss.

The void that had birthed this realm was the negation of all - light and dark, hope or despair, joy or anguish alike. It was a maw that saw all as prey. Were it not for the river and the dreams it bore, Hans would have already been devoured.

Hans floated endlessly, drifting through an abyssal void. While wonders and horrors alike arose from the river of realities, Hans had come to recognize a deep emptiness within them. Each world was born only to die, clinging to form for the briefest moment before dissolving again into the currents.

After drifting for unknowable time, Hans felt a peculiar pull on his essence. As if a glimpse of solid shore in that endless flow, one particular wave seemed to stand out, drawing his focus.

Though he couldn't explain why, Hans sensed this was his new home. The laws of physics in this reality seemed subtly different, weaker at the seams. And at those seams, Hans perceived an opportunity.

He extended himself into the weak points of that reality's fabric, probing. For an instant, the boundary came unravelled around him, a strong pulling force brought him inside this particular reality.

Hans' vision warped and distorted, colors blurring into impossible hues. Lines bent at unnatural angles and spheres seemed embedded within cubes.

Light flooded in chaotic streams while shadows leapt and danced without reason. His perception shattered into fragmented dots and blurs,forms dissolving with no clear shape or pattern remaining.

A deep sensation of vertigo washed over him, threatening to plunge him into an abyss. Nausea rose in his stomach, the threat of retching ever present. A pounding headache began at his temples, as if his skull would suddenly shatter.

Gradually, the vertigo and nausea subsided. Perspective snapped back into place. Colors slid into their proper hues once more and shapes coalesced again into familiar forms, his vision returned to normal.

The crippling headache remained, pulsing at his temples, but it vanished in an instant at the sight before him.

A beauty is moving on top of him?! Her hair was like a gorgeous brown silk, strands unbound and kissing her shoulders.

Her face held shadows of sorrow, yet in her eyes there lurked a strange madness - a wildness that might bleed into bliss. Her lips were petals stained crimson, gentle curves meant to stir dreams.

When her chest rose and fell, delicate roses seemed to bloom at the valley between her breasts. They are round and full, nipples a pink rose hue, meant to capture the eye and lead thoughts into realms of delight.

Every arch of her brow, every slender line of her throat, every subtle swell of her hips seemed gracefully honed, crafted with a poet's care to entice and entrance. She was a vision of men's fantasy given form, with an irresistible allure and enchantment, evoking both excitement and anticipation.

"Young master, I'm not done yet.." she begged softly, almost like a purr.