when you fell, it was like fire—and that was strange. fire had always been a companion to you. divine fire had preceded you, its scathing cleanliness heralding your arrival and presaging your power.
now, fire tailed you. it was the smell of blazing feathers. of flaming atmosphere. of a burned out halo.
it was, like so much of this moment, new. you had thought before now that in your eons of existence, you had witnessed all there was to see. but now you understood: you had only used one set of eyes. how had you been so naive?
you had asked that question many times, in the weeks before you fell.
it was true that you had seen as your garrison had seen—thousands of eyes across hundreds of faces. but you understood now, those were not different views. that was the beauty of the garrison. that was the horror. that was, in some small part, why you left.
you understood perfectly now. lost in the sea of their perception, you had no sight to call your own.
you had it now. sense. feeling. the most intimate understanding of the world. a complete and total awareness.
of pain.
you screamed as you fell. you opened your throat and spoke in a voice that was all your own. you cursed freedom and cursed the garrison and cursed every moment of every timeline that had brought you to this point and you screamed. it hurt. and it was good.
this was the path, you had come to understand. this journey was the only way by which to forge the destination.
you were the metal and you were the mold. you were the stamp and you were the anvil. you were the tongs.
but you were not the sword.
not anymore.
NEVER/END