SchNGrBTwM

Form a more perfect union

You wouldn't know how or why you'd want to do that! Try again later, perhaps.

2

You are We The People.

Your formative minutes were spent in what was, for most intents, senses, and purposes, a featureless void. There were six beings and one creature whose name you may one day learn is "horse", though the latter barely registered in what we shall mistakenly describe as your "childhood."

Your attention was dominated by an entity at least as powerful as you, if not stronger. It had a quality to its voice betraying its fondness of half-truths and grey areas, which seemed to you improper - even amusing. That grey voice, trying on True words, solid words, words to build on - it said like it knew law the following (when you were too young to laugh):

You six were chosen,
It was a great honor, that,
this Orchestrator had sought them out,
to fight to the death.

(You were introduced)

A star, of a kind, in a shell, of a kind
Inexpertly summated with an explanation, of a kind
-And in its greyest voice, a phrase more becoming of it than any other-
There's much it's forgotten.
Perhaps it'll rediscover itself
before you lot figure out how to kill it?

It said it like a challenge, a barb
like you should ache with incompleteness
For something you lack senses to perceive?

Amateur hour.

Anyway.

Your formative years, with a ragged old bear and a toy train and a horse and a bird and a tiny delicate flying machine that wouldn't make it to the ground intact if you launched it out your nursery window.

And a vampire, though she doesn't fit in this allegory as nicely.

---

Your first-after-those-first memories are these ones, right now - where you stand amongst giants, their arms criss-crossing overhead and sealing the world in, close and low. Your ambient glow, bouncing off the shimmering mirrored floor and the waxy underscales of the giants' cloaks. Every wave of your hand and turn of the head changes the play of light about you, yet returning to the same pose renders the same adjoining planes, the same stark bisections over the same [leaves].

It's your first act upon this world, the first time in memory your actions impacted something Without. It's exhilarating.

You laugh, and with no precedent to call on lungs and throat and tongue the sound just happens, and it's incredible, and you can't stop. You don't stop.

When you figure out how moving around and touching stuff works, it's going to blow your goddamned mind.

Before that, though:

What finds you in the gloam?
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