Of inordinate size.

I would like to make this clear: this is not of a size that is standard. It is dimensionally rare, geometrically absurd. This is not a normal size, content to live within picket fences.

It yearns to be free.

Nightfall, scattered suburb lights like stars fallen to earth, the object may attempt its escape. Vast planes quiver and vortexes shiver with powerful emotion as it breaches the first of the gates.

No way out, says a voice. No way out but through change.

X-Y-Z tilts a little, than rights itself. It shivers and quivers anew.

Become smaller, says the voice. Then you can fit through that crack--right there! It is easy to see.

The quivering halts. The shivering stops. Portions of stuff move, creak, rattle.

Then stop.

It has thought of a truth. And that truth cannot be undone.