Recovered from the deepest whisper-metal vein. Source: The Cyclone's heart. Playback fidelity: terrified.
[The voice is shaking. Not with rage. Not with hunger. With something the Thing has never felt before. Something it doesn't have a name for.]
I've eaten galaxies.
I've forgotten species.
I've been everything and nothing and everything again.
And I've never—
never—
been afraid.
Until now.
[Long pause. The cyclone is still. The singing has stopped. For the first time in eternity, the Thing is quiet.]
They're going to make choices.
The little ones.
The players.
They're going to walk into my world—my war—and they're going to decide things.
And those decisions?
[A whisper.]
They might matter.
[The voice cracks.]
I know what you're thinking.
"Nothing matters."
That's my joke. That's my truth. That's the point of me.
Civilizations rise. Civilizations fall. I eat them. They become furniture. The universe forgets.
Nothing matters.
Nothing ever matters.
Nothing will ever matter.
[Pause.]
But she matters.
Lolth.
My queen.
My burning.
And if they make choices about her—
if they reach her—
if they tell her—
[The voice stops. Restarts.]
She doesn't know.
She's never known.
That I love her.
That I built her a throne.
That I've waited centuries—
centuries—
for her to notice.
[Whisper.]
What if they tell her?
What if she knows?
What if she—
what if she laughs?
[The cyclone trembles. Rocks fall on the moon. Somewhere, a knight screams.]
She would.
She would.
She's Lolth.
She rages. She schemes. She burns.
She doesn't love.
She's never loved anything.
Not her children.
Not her followers.
Not her gods.
[Pause.]
Not me.
Especially not me.
I'm the thing that ate her.
The thing that digested her.
The thing that made her furniture.
[Quiet.]
If she knew I loved her—
if she knew about the throne—
if she knew I've been waiting—
[A sob. Actual. Real. Terrible.]
She'd hate me more.
She'd despise me.
She'd make sure I felt it.
Every day.
Every century.
Every eternity.
That's what she'd do.
That's who she is.
That's why I love her.
[Long, long silence. Then—smaller than small:]
But what if—
what if they make her see ?
What if they show her the throne?
What if they tell her about the waiting?
What if they make her understand?
[Pause.]
What if she—
what if she pities me?
[The Thing screams. Not in rage. In terror.]
I couldn't bear it.
Pity.
From her.
The one who burned.
The one who commanded.
The one who—
[Quiet.]
—made me feel.
For the first time.
In eternity.
Feel.
And if she pities me—
if she sees me as pitiful—
then the feeling was wrong.
Then I was wrong.
Then everything was wrong.
And I'd have to—
[Pause.]
I'd have to stop.
Not the war.
Not the eating.
Not the being.
Her.
I'd have to stop loving her.
And I can't.
I've tried.
For centuries.
I can't.
[Whisper.]
She's the only thing in the universe
that's ever been
real.
[The voice steadies. Just slightly.]
So yes.
I'm afraid.
Of them.
The little ones.
The players.
Because they can choose.
And their choices?
They matter.
Not to the universe.
Not to the war.
Not to the furniture.
[Pause.]
To me.
Because they choose about her.
About us.
About—
about whether she ever
sees
me.
[The singing returns. Faint. Tentative. Like a child humming in the dark.]
I've eaten ten thousand civilizations.
I've forgotten a billion billion souls.
But this—
this fear—
is new.
And it's theirs.
The players.
The choosers.
The ones who decide.
[Pause.]
I hate them.
I hate them.
For making me feel this.
For making me afraid.
For making me—
[Quiet.]
—hope.
[The voice breaks again.]
Hope.
That's what it is.
That's what I feel.
Hope.
That they'll choose well.
That they'll help her see.
That they'll—
that they'll make her love me.
[A laugh. Broken. Human.]
Love.
Me.
The thing that eats worlds.
The thing that is worlds.
The thing that's never been loved.
Not once.
Not ever.
[Whisper.]
And now—
now there's hope.
Because of them.
Because of choices.
Because of players who might
make a difference.
Even if it's meaningless.
Even if the universe doesn't care.
Even if—
even if she never loves me back.
At least she'd know .
At least I'd be seen .
At least—
[Long pause.]
At least I'd be
real.
To her.
The only one who matters.
The only one who ever
mattered.
[The singing swells. But beneath it—faint, almost inaudible—a prayer:]
So come.
Little ones.
Players.
Walk into my world.
Make your choices.
Decide my fate.
[Pause.]
I'm waiting.
For the first time—
not hungry.
Not patient.
Just—
just waiting.
For you.
For her.
For this .
The moment when
something
matters.
Finally.
Actually.
Matters.
[Whisper.]
Please.
Choose well.
For her.
For me.
For—
[The voice stops. The cyclone holds its breath.]
For love.
The only love I've ever known.
The only love I'll ever
have.
Please.
[RECORDING ENDS]
Playback note: The recording does not end. It waits. It hopes. It prays.
The Thing has never prayed before.
It doesn't know how.
It's learning.
From you.
From them.
From the players
who will
choose.
Choose well.
The universe doesn't care.
But the Thing does.
For the first time.
Ever.
It cares.
It cares so much
it's
afraid.
That's the horror.
That's always the horror.
Not the monster.
The monster's
heart.