For many years, human researchers have misunderstood the so-called “camouflage” of the cuttlefish. Much like a chameleon, it is allegedly capable of matching the coloration of its skin to the exact hue and patterning of any nearby surface. This is particularly interesting because the cuttlefish itself is colorblind. Despite being able to wear the palette of its environment perfectly, it is simultaneously unable to sense it altogether- its own skin seems to see better than its eyes.

What the cuttlefish knows, and humanity does not, is that no camouflage actually takes place whatsoever. Being little more than a blur against the background of the world is its natural state, and the process of becoming visible is, in fact, entirely deliberate. It spends most of its life as nothing more than an outline, a potential being- and only occasionally takes on a tangible form.

Though its ink is perhaps best known for helping it to escape from predators, this fluid serves a far more important purpose while still inside the cuttlefish’s body- allowing it to mimic existence. When conditions seem safe enough for it to do so, it meticulously paints itself into reality, detailing every curve from its tentacles on down to the edge of its mantle. Maintaining such an elaborate semblance of a physical form is a difficult task that requires constant conscious attention. If threatened or startled, it must sacrifice the ink granting it a physical form so that it can quickly return to the safety of unreality’s border.

Despite their obliviousness to its ontological potency, humans have traditionally prized cuttlefish ink, as it is the primary ingredient used when manufacturing sepia. For hundreds of years, artists have used it for everything from calligraphy to blueprints, yet have never once managed to harness its more extraordinary properties. If they could only learn how to draw in more than two dimensions at once, then perhaps they would come to understand the cuttlefish’s secret.

Cuttlefish ink is remarkably similar in chemical and ontological properties to Black Pear Wine.

What direction "down" leads is not constant, but Antique Gravity points toward these hidden bodies of water.

Just as the ocean can split in two, so too can the sky, just beyond the horizon's Vanishing Point.