The smell is overwhelming. It’s sharp as knives. This putrid, decaying rank makes you dizzy. In spite of that – in spite of everything in your body reeling and begging to shut it off – there’s something familiar to it. There’s an odd comfort to that disgust; a knowledge that if it smelled any different, any less putrid, that would mean that something was deeply wrong.

Floating through the abyss of pink mountains and tunnels, the horror begins to give way to peace. It doesn’t take much effort to walk this way, as if an invisible current pulls you along. You can close your eyes and let it take you.