the Voice
"Of course it is you. But not in the way that you think, bright one."
Nate is the first true visitor to this fresh shrine of hers, but that is not why she appears. The Voice has seen, of course; has seen her bright one grow dark and jaded, has seen what repeated silence has seeded within him. And now she is here, to put those things to rest at last.
"You are a man of logic," she says, flickering up from the shrine in a wash of sparks, that she might pluck up his offering, her porcelain fingers dancing across the sea glass. "I thought you not the type to seek purpose in something beyond the realms of your own doing."
A gentle smile, an apology. "But it seems I have been mistaken. Speak then, Nate Wren. Speak, refresh yourself, and we shall understand you a little better."
Nate is the first true visitor to this fresh shrine of hers, but that is not why she appears. The Voice has seen, of course; has seen her bright one grow dark and jaded, has seen what repeated silence has seeded within him. And now she is here, to put those things to rest at last.
"You are a man of logic," she says, flickering up from the shrine in a wash of sparks, that she might pluck up his offering, her porcelain fingers dancing across the sea glass. "I thought you not the type to seek purpose in something beyond the realms of your own doing."
A gentle smile, an apology. "But it seems I have been mistaken. Speak then, Nate Wren. Speak, refresh yourself, and we shall understand you a little better."
