Happiness is not an ideal of reason but of imagination
A half grin slants my lips as she announces that she has a single question, which swiftly turns into many smaller questions, though the theme of it is singular. "Science makes no claims to know everything, quite the opposite. With science, the true scope of just how little we know can be appreciated. A scientist will postulate a theory and have it tested over and over, to prove whether their theory fits the narrative repeatedly, with controlled and uncontrolled variables. A true scientist is glad to be corrected, to learn that what they once thought was truth could in fact be explained more thoroughly and completely another way."
I respond, pausing to take another sip of drink. "Sudden gifts and miracles, powers as you call it, did not exist on Earth, at least not the capacity I have seen here." I offer a shrug, as if to say most were as mundane as me before I was brought here. "Magic was but a common theme in many fables told throughout the ages." Though perhaps there was more truth to those fables than I or everyone else was led to believe when such things were called fiction.
Wessex elaborates more on herself, and I hear more death, more loss and grief and can only wonder at how she is a functioning human being despite it all. Maybe we had similar coping mechanisms - shoving emotions to the side to be forgotten as long as possible, usually dug up at the most inappropriate, inconvenient times. "That's quite a journey," I comment softly, hoping to show my appreciation, or maybe some kind of empathy, for what she's been through. "And when she remade you, she gifted you with your teleportation, so your journey could continue, and take you across the land?"
I respond, pausing to take another sip of drink. "Sudden gifts and miracles, powers as you call it, did not exist on Earth, at least not the capacity I have seen here." I offer a shrug, as if to say most were as mundane as me before I was brought here. "Magic was but a common theme in many fables told throughout the ages." Though perhaps there was more truth to those fables than I or everyone else was led to believe when such things were called fiction.
Wessex elaborates more on herself, and I hear more death, more loss and grief and can only wonder at how she is a functioning human being despite it all. Maybe we had similar coping mechanisms - shoving emotions to the side to be forgotten as long as possible, usually dug up at the most inappropriate, inconvenient times. "That's quite a journey," I comment softly, hoping to show my appreciation, or maybe some kind of empathy, for what she's been through. "And when she remade you, she gifted you with your teleportation, so your journey could continue, and take you across the land?"
CHULANE
