Show pageOld revisionsBacklinksBack to top This page is read only. You can view the source, but not change it. Ask your administrator if you think this is wrong. Despite all the consideration, the messages to and fro, it is too much to place another you into a cradle of multiplying corpse-metal like this one. A new Thress, believing still in the lie that she could save the world, naïve constellation, childish guiding lights //(tha█t is too███ harsh, █anot██her part of█ you whi█spers; n█ot harsh ███ █ enough, an███other in reply)//. You couldn’t put her through it. You refuse to/you surrender yourself to it. The splitting, the division, of yourself and of your friends, the goodbyes, the deaths, this Contingency that has never admitted its faults for long enough to try anew. [[turnsheet_sharing:thress:6:cannot|And you are so tired of trying.]]\\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ ====i==== //It’s all building to something. A head, a crescendo, ascendence. More than what you were, less than what you are, parent cell dividing into her helpless daughters. Each of you becomes two, then each again, again, again. Halting at ten for every one of what you were before, you think, if you **could** think. One remains, one alone, above Mythhaler’s grave. The constellation squirms and wriggles and grows, stretched to swathe around the system, Star-guide without a clue who she is anymore. Are they watching, down there? [[turnsheet_sharing:thress:6:cannot#cannot|Are they afraid?]]// turnsheet_sharing/thress/6/i.txt Last modified: 2025/10/23 09:16by gm_maisie