“You have the Delirium,” he said.
Wave.
That was Day One of Delirium. By Day Three, the walls of Nikraria began to breathe. Not metaphorically. I pressed my palm to the plaster, and I felt a slow, wet inhalation. The city, I realized, was a single organism. The canals were its veins. The bell towers were its teeth. The people? We were just fleas dancing on a hot skillet.
They call it the Grey Shakes.
And in Nikraria, during Delirium, that is far, far worse.
You cannot fight the Grey Shakes. You must let them shake you apart. The locals call it “spilling your hourglass.” You lie down in a salt bath, and you let the memories drain out of your ears. All of them. The first kiss. The funeral. The name of your mother’s dog. Gone.
She is remembering you.
I ran. But running in Nikraria during Delirium is like running in a dream—your legs are pillars of wet sand. The streets folded. An alley I entered at midnight spat me out at noon the previous day. I watched myself arrive at the city gates, clean-shaven and confident. I tried to shout a warning. My mouth filled with seafoam. The cure for Delirium, I later learned, is not a medicine. It is a surrender.
“You have the Delirium,” he said.
Wave.
That was Day One of Delirium. By Day Three, the walls of Nikraria began to breathe. Not metaphorically. I pressed my palm to the plaster, and I felt a slow, wet inhalation. The city, I realized, was a single organism. The canals were its veins. The bell towers were its teeth. The people? We were just fleas dancing on a hot skillet. Delirium -Nikraria-
They call it the Grey Shakes.
And in Nikraria, during Delirium, that is far, far worse. “You have the Delirium,” he said
You cannot fight the Grey Shakes. You must let them shake you apart. The locals call it “spilling your hourglass.” You lie down in a salt bath, and you let the memories drain out of your ears. All of them. The first kiss. The funeral. The name of your mother’s dog. Gone.
She is remembering you.
I ran. But running in Nikraria during Delirium is like running in a dream—your legs are pillars of wet sand. The streets folded. An alley I entered at midnight spat me out at noon the previous day. I watched myself arrive at the city gates, clean-shaven and confident. I tried to shout a warning. My mouth filled with seafoam. The cure for Delirium, I later learned, is not a medicine. It is a surrender.
