For the first time, Ero had a reflection. It was a tiny, clear dot in a sea of grey.

The inhabitants are Smudglings. They have no hard edges, no fingerprints, no definitive profiles. A Smudgling is a suggestion of a person. If you look directly at one, their features bleed into a kind, familiar blur—like a loved one seen through a rain-streaked window. Their voices are the sound of a radio playing in another room.

incorporate White Sage, Blue Sage, and Dragon’s Blood Sage alongside Palo Santo sticks.

He didn’t enter the Void. But he didn’t retreat back into the Smudge, either.

“Why do you resist the blur?” asked his friend, a lovely, indistinct being named Wisp. “Certainty is a cage. Here, you can be everything at once.”