You know that feeling you get when you park in your driveway and realize you don’t remember driving home?

He’s having a lot of that right now.

The lush, cascading vines are great and all, but is there…a map? Or something? One of those pointy sign pole things, maybe?

There is a rock by the left-hand path inscribed with 水water, and a little wooden plaque forward, with 木wood inked on it. A petal flutters down from above and lands on his nose.

(His eyes cross automatically to look at the petal.)

Okay. That’s…if not exactly helpful, at least evidence that if he goes either of those ways there will be something. Somebody’s pointing a direction. Probably.

He’ll (eenie, meenie, minie…) go with the rock.

The rose is very disappointed, but it will persist unsmelled as long as it takes.

As he walks along, he see ferns curling into tight spirals - it's early in the year, and there are spore clumps visible on light undersides. As the breeze disturbs them, they rustle, and tiny particles spin outwards looking for homes. Dew is still visible on the tips of moss spears, dissuading laying upon what would otherwise be a very cozy blanket on the earth. Gravel crunches beneath his feet, and there's a mist cloaking the surface of a wide and shallow meander.

…well, wherever this is, it’s nice to look at.

He brushes his fingers over the frond of a fern as he passes, wandering towards the water’s edge.

The mists part as he draws closer, revealing a black sand beach with flat slate stepping stones, perfectly spaced for stepping between. It splits into three parts, inviting the user to step through one of the three doors of a lacquered shrine. If one were to pay close attention, they'd see the air shimmers oil-slick, warbling and distorting like a soap bubble boundary. If they didn't, they might be distracted by the vast, broad expanse of still water beyond - it beckons, calling with the whisper of vast motion. Wouldn't you like to take a journey? I can show you so, so many things.

…he didn’t smell salt before, did he? But he does now.

He expects to hear gulls calling in the distance, or to hear waves crashing on the sand, but there’s nothing. It’s all so still.

He takes a few experimental steps backwards.

The oil slick shimmer pulls back slightly as he steps away, like a soap film drawing taut, then relaxing. The whispers soften, but do not disappear - the water continues its quiet, subtle call. Behind, the ferns rustle gently in a breeze that stirs the clover and moss underfoot, carries the scent of roses and rich, dark earth. Before, the portal rests, its doors ajar, the lacquer throwing back distorted reflections of sky and trees and his own curious, hesitant form. There is a path, should he choose to step upon the stones - but none compel him.

He inches back forward.

……what if he just.

pokes it.

It's smooth and yielding and oddly sensual to the touch. There's a cool surface like tapioca and it sucks at his finger once it yields to the prod.

H…uh.

He wiggles his finger.

The sensation is peculiar, like touching a thick, viscous liquid through a latex glove. When he continues to press inwards, it gives way and his finger sinks a fraction of an inch into an ice-water chill. The whispers intensify, becoming an eager, encouraging susurrus. Come in, come in, the waters call, we have such sights to show you. The colors dance and flicker behind his probing digit, reds and greens and blues chasing each other in lazy, oily swirls. It laps against his skin, cool and pliant.

…it kind of feels like this ominous bubble is flirting with him.

He sticks his whole hand in there.

(What? Sue him.)

The membrane stretches taut around his wrist for a brief moment, then yields with an aqueous pop as his hand sinks in up to the forearm. Inside is bitterly, painfully cold - it feels as though he has plunged his arm into an icy mountain stream in the dead of winter. But there is no numbness, only sensation heightened, every nerve awake and tingling as colors dance along his skin. The whispers turn pleased, coaxing - his arm has breached the divide, would the rest of him like to follow? There are such wonders within, secrets and delights to unfold for an explorer bold enough to take the plunge. The lacquer doors stand open, and the path beckons him onward, into liquid depths of blue.