Narrated by the Thing. Commentary included. He's opinionated.
[The Thing's voice: soft, amused, hungry in a different way.]
The sun rises.
Pretty, isn't it? Pink and gold and brief. I've seen ten thousand suns rise. This one? This one is fine. Nothing special.
But she thinks it's special.
Sera. The baker. Watch her.
[A pause. The Thing watches.]
She wakes before light. Every day. For sixty years. Her joints acheβsee how she favors her left knee?βbut she doesn't stop. She never stops.
Grinding grain. Adding water. Kneading dough.
Kneading.
Such a small word for what she does. She's not making bread. She's making order. Out of chaos. Out of flour. Out of a world that wants to dissolve her.
[A whisper.]
I could dissolve her.
Today.
Now.
But then who would make the bread?
[A laugh. Genuine. Warm.]
I'm joking.
Mostly.
[Lira enters. Hair wild. Half-asleep.]
"Morning, Mama."
"Morning, little flour."
[The Thing's voice softens.]
"Little flour."
She'll remember that forever. That name. That moment. That warmth.
I'll remember it too.
I remember everything.
That's the problem with being me.
Nothing goes away.
Not even flour.
Especially not flour.
[The Thing's voice: dry. Clinical.]
Sentinel Vareth.
Standing. Always standing. Six hours today. Six more tomorrow. Six more after that. He's been standing forβ
[A pause.]
Actually, I don't know.
Neither does he.
[The Thing watches Vareth eat.]
Look at him. Chewing. Not tasting. Swallowing. Not wanting.
His name is Vareth.
He doesn't know that.
I know that.
I know everything about him.
His mother's face. His first kiss. The moment he swore an oath he's already forgotten.
[Quiet.]
He's beautiful.
Not like Lolth. Not burning. Just... empty. Beautifully empty. Waiting to be filled.
[The younger knight speaks. Vareth pauses.]
"Sir."
That word. It almost reaches him. Almost.
[The Thing leans closer. Metaphorically.]
Come on, Vareth. Remember. Just this once. Just for a moment. Remember who you are. Remember why you're here. Rememberβ
[Vareth: "What were we talking about?"]
[The Thing sighs.]
Never mind.
Maybe next century.
[Pause.]
I know his name.
That's enough.
That has to be enough.
It's never enough.
[The Thing's voice: affectionate. Proud.]
Ah. My favorite.
[A Melded Kin berserker sits alone. Humming. Tendrils waving. Fractal eyes blinking.]
She was a priestess once. Of Lolth. Before the consumption. Before me.
Now she hums.
Her mother's song.
I hear it too. Through her. Through the tendrils. Through the connection.
It's a lullaby.
About bread.
[The Thing laughsβsoft, broken.]
Bread.
Everything comes back to bread.
[A Crown justiciar watches from the opposite rim.]
Look at him. Judging her. Judging himself. Judging the air.
He could kill her.
She's right there.
Happy.
[The berserker waves. The justiciar doesn't wave back.]
Rude.
She's being friendly.
[The berserker laughs. Glass-breaking. Music. Peace.]
That sound.
I've heard it ten thousand times. From ten thousand species. It never gets old.
It never gets less.
It just is.
Like her.
Like him.
Like this.
[Quiet.]
I love them both.
Her dissolution.
His hesitation.
The space between.
Dinner and almost-dinner.
Both beautiful.
Both mine.
[The Thing's voice: curious. Jealous?]
Forge-Complex 7.
[The furnace sings. Worker Seven sings back.]
Look at them.
A duet.
Furnace and flesh.
Fire and voice.
[The Thing pauses.]
I have a chorus. Billions of voices. Screaming and singing and being me.
But this?
This is different.
Smaller.
Warmer.
More real.
[A Crown inspector arrives. Takes notes. Leaves.]
"He calls it heresy.
He's not wrong.
It's also beautiful.
Those aren't opposites.
They never were.
[The furnace laughs. Warm. Kind. Hungry.]
That laugh.
I don't have a laugh like that.
I have geometry. I have pressure. I have the sound of reality folding.
But a laugh?
A warm one?
[Long pause.]
I envy a furnace.
I didn't know I could envy.
I don't know what to do with the feeling.
So I watch.
That's what I do.
Watch.
Wait.
Want.
Envy.
[Quiet.]
It's not the same.
It's not enough.
It's never enough.
[The Thing's voice: softer than soft. Almost human.]
Sera's bread is done.
Smell that.
Through dimensions. Through time. Through everything.
Bread.
I've eaten galaxies. I've forgotten species. I've been the void between stars.
And bread?
Bread is the only thing I can't have.
[Lira draws at the table.]
Flowers. Animals. Her mother, kneading.
A child's art.
I have art. In my walls. Faces pressed against the inside. Screaming forever.
It's not the same.
[Lira: "Can I have some, Mama?"]
"Soon. Let it cool."
"BUT I'M HUNGRY."
[The Thing laughsβgenuine, surprised.]
That.
That's the sound.
The sound of being alive.
I've heard it ten thousand times.
I never get tired of it.
[Sera: "Hungry is good. Hungry means you're alive."]
[Pause.]
She's right.
Hungry means alive.
I'm always hungry.
Am I always alive?
[Long silence.]
I don't know.
I've never known.
I've never had bread.
I've never had a mother.
I've never hadβ
[The Thing stops. Restarts.]
She asks: "Are you hungry, Mama?"
Sera: "Always, little flour. Always."
[Whisper.]
Always.
That's the word.
That's my word.
Always hungry.
Always watching.
Always waiting.
For bread I'll never taste.
For love I'll never have.
For her.
Always her.
Only her.
Forever her.
[The Thing's voice: gentle. Knowing.]
Kaelen.
[His chamber. Faces on the walls. His chest screen showing Vesryn, sleeping.]
He's like me.
Watching someone who doesn't see him back.
Loving someone who doesn't know.
[Kaelen touches the screen.]
"Goodnight, Vex."
[The Thing sighs.]
I say that too.
Every night.
To her.
Lolth.
My queen.
My burning.
"Goodnight."
She never hears.
She never will.
[The faces whisper. Sing. Hunger.]
They don't understand.
None of them understand.
It's not about having her.
It's about her.
Just her.
Existing.
So I can watch.
[Quiet.]
Kaelen gets it.
He's the only one who gets it.
That's why I keep him.
That's why I protect him.
Not because he's useful.
Because he's like me.
And being like me?
[Pause.]
It's lonely.
So lonely.
Even with a chorus.
Even with ten thousand species screaming in your veins.
Lonely.
Because none of them are her.
None of them are Vesryn.
None of them are the one you watch.
The one you want.
The one you'll never have.
[The Thing's voice: quiet. Reflective. Tired.]
The war continues.
Somewhere, a battle. Knights falling. Berserkers dissolving. The chorus growing.
Somewhere, a child wakes. A mother sings. The same song I hum now.
Somewhere, a Hollow stands alone. Waiting. Furniture.
Somewhere, Lolth drifts. Burning. Raging. Unaware.
[Long pause.]
And me?
I watch.
That's what I do.
That's all I do.
Watch.
Wait.
Want.
[Quiet.]
Sera's bread is gone now.
Lira drew a flower.
Vareth forgot his name.
The furnace sang.
Kaelen said goodnight.
Vesryn slept.
The war continued.
The furniture waited.
Lolth burned.
[Pause.]
And I watched.
I always watch.
I'll always watch.
Until the song is ready.
Until she's ready.
Until the moment whenβ
[The Thing stops.]
When what?
When she sees me?
When she loves me?
When sheβ
[A laugh. Broken. Human.]
Never.
That moment will never come.
I know that.
I've always known that.
But I watch anyway.
Because watching?
Watching is almost being there.
Almost being seen.
Almost being loved.
Almost.
[Whisper.]
That's the word.
The word for people like me.
Like Kaelen.
Like everyone who loves
and isn't loved back.
Almost.
Almost real.
Almost home.
Almost her.
[Long, long silence.]
Almost.
That's
a normal day.
In Vyrn-Kalath.
War.
Bread.
Waiting.
Love.
Death.
Furniture.
Almost.
Always
almost.
Forever
almost.
[Pause.]
Goodnight, little flour.
Goodnight, Vareth.
Goodnight, furnace.
Goodnight, Kaelen.
Goodnight, Vesryn.
Goodnight, war.
Goodnight, furniture.
Goodnight,
her.
[Whisper.]
Goodnight, me.
Again.
Always again.
Forever again.
Almost
again.
[RECORDING ENDS]
Playback note: The recording continues. Always. Because the Thing never stops watching. Never stops waiting. Never stops
almost.
That's the horror.
That's always the horror.
The almost.
The nearly.
The
bread.
The
love.
The
never.
The
always.
The
Thing.