You know, there’s one thing about you that always astonishes me. The longer you talk, the wronger you get. - M. K. Hobson

Could one die from boredom, she wondered? From complete, oppressive, crushing, unmitigated boredom, the likes of which made all other boredom seem like ecstasy’s sweet thrilling embrace? And in such a case, if one happened to have a life insurance policy, would it pay?

Emily already knew there was going to be hell to pay, and she supposed there was no use allowing it to accrue interest.

Spread out before the pyramid, as far as the eye could see, stretched a frozen ocean of blackness—stinking oily blackness that bubbled and churned. Voider than void, colder than cold, deader than dead.
It is your world.
It is the world we will make for you.