“You have the Delirium,” he said.
“No,” he said, tying a knot. “You are the Delirium. You always were. Nikraria is sane. You are the fever dreaming a city.”
“I know,” I said.
If you come to Nikraria, do not look for the catacombs. Do not ask for the map. When the white fog rolls in, do not breathe.
By Nikraria
The fog, however, had other plans.
— A fragment recovered from the sea wall, written in charcoal and salt water. The author was not found. Delirium -Nikraria-
And in Nikraria, during Delirium, that is far, far worse.
I ran. But running in Nikraria during Delirium is like running in a dream—your legs are pillars of wet sand. The streets folded. An alley I entered at midnight spat me out at noon the previous day. I watched myself arrive at the city gates, clean-shaven and confident. I tried to shout a warning. My mouth filled with seafoam. The cure for Delirium, I later learned, is not a medicine. It is a surrender. “You have the Delirium,” he said
The true delirium arrived at midnight, riding the fourth chime of the Drowned Bell.