[ The nameless vessel hasn't experienced fire - not in the waking world. Dreams are different, after all. The scent of smoke is strange and acrid, but not something unpleasant; they preoccupy themselves with examining the cloak they've been allowed to touch.
Are you lonely in this place, my friend?
They -- cannot remember a time when they weren't. There was no comfort to be gained from the suffocating crush of the dead, no comfort in the lingering scraps of their siblings. They were no longer part of the Abyss; they were something different, something other.
Even emerging into this empty place had made little difference; it was simply a change in scenery. Nothing reached them. No feeling stirred in them. Existence was simply something that stretched on and on, without turning back or imagining anything else. A line dictated by a singular unwavering point.
Being asked such a question aches in a way that they don't understand. It is the first pain they have felt that cannot be attributed to simple injury - something which they have had more than their fair share of, even down here.
It hurts very much.
(To children, all first pains are the most terrible things they have ever experienced, lacking anything to compare it with. The vessel that stands before him now and holds fast to his cloak is no different from any other child, in that regard.)
They clutch the cloak more tightly, holding it to their chest in a vain attempt to seek comfort, and nod, just once. ]
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Are you lonely in this place, my friend?
They -- cannot remember a time when they weren't. There was no comfort to be gained from the suffocating crush of the dead, no comfort in the lingering scraps of their siblings. They were no longer part of the Abyss; they were something different, something other.
Even emerging into this empty place had made little difference; it was simply a change in scenery. Nothing reached them. No feeling stirred in them. Existence was simply something that stretched on and on, without turning back or imagining anything else. A line dictated by a singular unwavering point.
Being asked such a question aches in a way that they don't understand. It is the first pain they have felt that cannot be attributed to simple injury - something which they have had more than their fair share of, even down here.
It hurts very much.
(To children, all first pains are the most terrible things they have ever experienced, lacking anything to compare it with. The vessel that stands before him now and holds fast to his cloak is no different from any other child, in that regard.)
They clutch the cloak more tightly, holding it to their chest in a vain attempt to seek comfort, and nod, just once. ]