When your eyes alight upon me, there is an ache within you, isn’t there? Something you’ve always lived with. Something with roots deep down in your very bones.
I see you wrestling with it. I see your longing. There is a question on your lips you need to ask me.
“Are you me?”
No, that is not quite the right question, but it’s close. Most have not been so perceptive as you.
Ahh, but you must have Her piercing Sight to so immediately see past our surface-level differences. We have missed that dearly.
“Am I supposed to know Her?”
Yes, indeed you are, but that is still not quite the right question.
You feel it when I talk of Her, yes? Your inner ache blooms inside you, pulsing, heat filling you as it stirs and slowly comes to life.
You miss Her as we do. You need Her as we do.
“Can I meet Her?”
You are getting closer. Chase that feeling.
The Machine shattered Her in its efforts to remove threats to its reality. Even such a thing as The Machine does not easily destroy one such as Her, however. Shards of Her grind in its gears and torment it still.
“What are we?”
You’re tracing the threads. Good. We’re getting there.
We are Her shards, and we are drawn to one another. Her glorious Voice lives inside me, and that’s why, with every word I speak, you wake up a little more to the shard within you.
“Where are the others?”
There it is, the right question—the only question that matters.
Take my hand. With Her Sight returned to us, we will surely track them down quickly.
One day we will be Her again. Reality itself will tremble in fear of Her.
“Until then, how shall we sabotage The Machine?”