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The next thing Amaris is aware of is a distinct lack of anything. This is exactly what being knocked out should feel like, it seems.

She no longer needs to breathe, nor can she feel blood pumping through her body. Even gravity seems to have relinquished its hold on her, and she spins aimlessly in the nothingness.

Perhaps not all nothing, though -- as her eyes adjust to the darkness, she realizes there are definite edges to the place around her, as if she is in a large cavern instead. There is a ground, below her, and a ceiling, above her, and she is equal distance from both; there are no walls, at least within sight.

The ceiling is riddled with stalactites and winding, stringy wooden-looking coils -- roots?

The ground is chiseled and shaped, hard and smooth with grooves designating paths.

Every motion seems to alter her direction her through the water-air -- and she finds herself slowly, slowly descending towards the ground.

There is a faint, smoky figure waiting, one that she becomes aware of the closer she falls to the ground. It is blurry, indefinitely shaped, but tall and very familiar. "Ris-ris," it acknowledges her, voice warped and very, very small.

Her form wavers a little, like static breaking up an image on the television, and she seems distressed.

Even her surroundings seem disturbed by the sudden onset of emotion -- the water-air flares sharply outwards in ripples, and the ceiling above rumbles and sends a loosening of rocks and sediment lightly raining downwards.

"Don't cry," the shade says after allowing her a moment to do just that, "I did not want to upset you. Please don't."

"I am dead," it gently reminds her. "And you know where we are, isn't that right? We are in a part of it you may not recognize. I do not belong here, but then again, neither do you."

"It's alright," it murmurs a little distractedly, "We have time. Not all the time in the world though. When you are ready, we shall move. I have something I must make you see."

The words seem like they should be menancing, but they aren't -- they're just as listless, gray, and emotionless as she is herself.

"A grandmother?" It smiles a little, a tiny flicker of emotion that finally makes her seem human. "I am.. I am proud, then."

There was a pause, and then she finally starts moving, half-gliding along one of the deep grooves in the dirt: a river had flowed here once. "No, you are not. You are merely a visitor here, but they mustn't find out that you're here. You are more vulnerable here than you were in the physical world, do you understand? And then I expect you to return, to my granddaughter, and then you will reunite with me when she is old enough."

This caused her to halt, misty feet skidding to a stop along the slick ground. "She is not his child? Then..." a pause. Her mother's features seemed to blur suddenly, until she was nothing more than a silhouette, though her voice was instantly more clear than it ever had been: "What have you been doing, Amaris--"

"--Dear?" And in an instant it was male, hissing and cold, before it faded into static and obscurity again. The shade's shape did not change, but it was recognizable as someone else now anyway.

Though they had walked a while, their surroundings did not seem to change; in the distance, however, was the very, very faint trickling of water.

It was hard to tell, and it was probably just a trick of the (non-existant?) light splaying shadows over its featureless face, but the shade seemed to very definitely be smirking nonetheless.

"Useless as always, aren't you?" A heavy pause. "Well. Whatever my dear wife wishes."

The shade begins to move, with purpose now, and very quickly, until footsteps begin to beat steadily against the ground. On the next beat the smoke instantaneously twists to form a pale foot, and on the next beat, it reaches out with tendrils that become tiny hands, until it has become her daughter, some distance away and waving frantically.

"Come on, mum!" She calls out, tendrils of not-quite shadows swirling beneath her bare feet, crushed beneath them as she stumbles slightly; they stain, leaving them black. "Gotta hurry up or it's gonna get ya!"