in another universe exists the dusting verse. Whereas Dust Dante whoose spent his entire life in the living purgatory. it's cold, desolate and empty. It's a nomadic land where all that matters is survival, though no one values their life whatsoever. Other than the Dusted one known as Dust Dante. Who tries to cling onto the little sanity that he has left.

Silent. Still. Adjacent to the central show as always, I can feel myself blending in with the world. Like the residue of a paintbrush being dipped into water, we mix. My realm is as a liquid, warm and formless as it gently consumes all touched by it. This world envelopes all in an airless safety. Yet just like a person starved of that very air, I hunger for something beyond the vast emptiness of this place. Desire is the very first sensation known to my being and I feel like a baby being coddled by its mother as my mind frantically attempts to provide me with something that I can cling to. Thoughts that rattle on and on try desperately to aid me. Silent. Still. Colorless. Confused. Purposeless. None of the words mean anything to me. The voice desperately reciting them seems to believe they should. A jerk brings me in the correct direction.