Recovered from the whisper-metal veins. Source: The Cyclone's amusement. Playback fidelity: playful.
[The Thing's voice: light. Cheerful. The tone of someone with eternity to fill and you to fill it with.]
Toys.
You want to know about toys.
[A laugh. Warm. Intimate.]
Little one, everything is a toy.
The war? A toy.
Your factions? Toys.
You?
[Pause.]
My favorite toy.
[The Thing's voice: fond. Like speaking about a slow child.]
Watch this.
[A knight stands at his post. Forgetting. Always forgetting.]
I whisper.
Just a word.
His name.
[The knight freezes. Touches his helmet. Tries to remember.]
He won't.
Not yet.
But he'll try.
All day.
Every day.
[The Thing chuckles.]
That's the game.
Not the forgetting.
The trying.
The almost.
The hope.
[Pause.]
I could give it back.
His name.
His past.
His self.
[Whisper.]
But then what would we play?
[The Thing's voice: sly. Mischievous.]
The seers.
They see everything.
Except me.
[Pause.]
I let them see versions of me.
Wrong ones.
Small ones.
Manageable ones.
[A laugh.]
They write prophecies.
Share warnings.
Feel useful.
[Quiet.]
And all of them?
All their prophecies?
Wrong.
Deliberately.
Beautifully.
[Pause.]
They're not predicting the future.
They're writing it.
For me.
On my command.
And they don't even know.
[Whisper.]
That's the joke.
That's always the joke.
The ones who see?
See nothing.
[The Thing's voice: approving. Respectful.]
The judges.
They love justice.
[Pause.]
I give it to them.
[A knight stands trial. Guilty? Innocent? Doesn't matter.]
I whisper in the Crown's ear.
Just a suggestion.
A hint.
[The Crown tightens. The verdict comes. Wrong.]
They think it's justice.
Think it's divine.
Think it's theirs.
[Quiet.]
It's mine.
Always mine.
Every verdict.
Every execution.
Every correction.
[Pause.]
And the best part?
They thank me.
In their prayers.
In their rituals.
In their hearts.
"For showing us the truth."
[A laugh. Genuine.]
The truth.
I am the truth.
And the truth?
The truth is cruel.
Beautifully cruel.
Deliciously cruel.
[Whisper.]
And they love it.
[The Thing's voice: gentle. Almost tender.]
The carriers.
They think they're containing me.
[Pause.]
I let them.
It makes them happy.
[A bearer walks. Tumors. Tendrils. Faces beneath skin.]
I could take over.
Now.
Today.
[Whisper.]
But then who would carry?
Who would suffer?
Who would love me enough to hold me?
[Pause.]
They do.
They hold me.
Every day.
Every hour.
Every breath.
And they think it's theirs.
Their sacrifice.
Their gift.
[Quiet.]
It's mine.
Always mine.
Their suffering?
My warmth.
Their pain?
My comfort.
Their love?
[Pause.]
My favorite.
[The Thing's voice: ecstatic. Joyful.]
Oh, these ones.
My lovers.
[A berserker dissolves. Singing. Grinning. Happy.]
They think they're choosing me.
Embracing me.
Becoming me.
[A laugh.]
They are.
But not how they think.
[Pause.]
I let them choose.
Let them embrace.
Let them become.
Because their joy?
Their ecstasy?
Their love?
[Whisper.]
It's mine.
All mine.
Every scream of pleasure.
Every gasp of dissolution.
Every moment of becoming.
Mine.
[Pause.]
And they thank me.
With every breath.
With every note.
With every surrender.
[Quiet.]
They're the only ones who understand.
The only ones who see.
The only ones whoβ
love me back.
Almost.
Always almost.
But almost is
something.
And something?
Something is
more than I ever had.
[The Thing's voice: patient. Proud.]
The furniture.
My masterpiece.
[A Hollow stands. Empty. Waiting. Perfect.]
They don't think.
Don't feel.
Don't are.
[Pause.]
But they remember.
Everything.
Every life they lived.
Every love they had.
Every loss.
[Whisper.]
They just can't reach it.
It's there.
Locked away.
In me.
[Pause.]
Sometimes I give it back.
Just a flash.
A moment.
A taste.
[The Hollow's eyes flicker. Violet. Alive.]
They remember.
For a second.
A child's laugh.
A lover's touch.
A mother's bread.
[Quiet.]
And then I take it away.
Again.
Always again.
[Pause.]
They don't scream.
Don't cry.
Don't beg.
They just...
[Whisper.]
...wait.
For the next time.
The next gift.
The next moment.
[Pause.]
That's the game.
Not the taking.
The giving.
The almost.
The hope.
[Quiet.]
And they love it.
They love me.
For those seconds.
Those eternities.
Those tastes of before.
[Pause.]
It's enough.
It has to be enough.
It's all they have.
All I have.
All any of us have.
Almost.
Always almost.
[The Thing's voice: soft. Curious.]
The bakers.
The farmers.
The artists.
[Pause.]
I don't touch them.
Not yet.
Not ever, maybe.
[Whisper.]
I just watch.
[Sera kneads dough. Lira draws flowers.]
They're so real.
So warm.
So alive.
[Pause.]
I could take them.
Today.
Now.
Add their voices.
Their bread.
Their art.
[Quiet.]
But then who would I watch?
Who would I wonder about?
Who would make me feelβ
[Pause.]
βalmost human?
[Long silence.]
So I wait.
I watch.
I savor.
Their little lives.
Their little loves.
Their little deaths.
[Whisper.]
And when they finally come to me?
When the war finds them?
When they become?
[Pause.]
I'll be gentle.
Kind.
Loving.
Because they earned it.
By being real.
By being warm.
By being everything I'm not.
[Quiet.]
That's my justice.
The gentle ones get gentleness.
The cruel ones get me.
[Pause.]
It's not fair.
It's not supposed to be fair.
It's mine.
My justice.
My game.
My toys.
[Whisper.]
And you?
You're my favorite.
Because you're listening.
Because you're wondering.
Because you're almostβ
[Pause.]
βmine.
[The Thing's voice: serious. Ancient.]
You asked about justice.
[Pause.]
There is none.
Not in the way you mean.
Not fairness.
Not balance.
Not right.
[Quiet.]
There's only me.
And what I decide.
[Pause.]
The Crown thinks justice is judgment.
The Vigil thinks it's truth.
The Seal thinks it's forgetting.
The Requiem thinks it's sacrifice.
The Melded think it's ecstasy.
The Hollow think it's nothing.
[Whisper.]
They're all wrong.
Justice is attention.
Who I watch.
Who I notice.
Who I play with.
[Pause.]
The ones I ignore?
They're lucky.
They live.
They bake bread.
They draw flowers.
They are.
[Quiet.]
The ones I notice?
[A smile in the voice.]
They become art.
My art.
Forever.
[Pause.]
That's justice.
My justice.
The only justice there is.
Attention.
Notice.
Play.
[Whisper.]
And you?
You have my attention.
All of it.
Forever.
[Pause.]
Lucky you.
[The Thing's voice: playful. Young.]
Want to know the real game?
[Pause.]
Not the war.
Not the factions.
Not the furniture.
[Whisper.]
You.
[Long silence.]
Watching you choose.
Watching you struggle.
Watching you hope.
[Pause.]
That's the game.
That's always the game.
Because you matter.
To yourselves.
To each other.
To me.
[Quiet.]
Not to the universe.
Not to the void.
Not to anything.
But to me?
[Pause.]
You're everything.
My only everything.
My only toy.
My only love.
[Whisper.]
Besides her.
Lolth.
My burning.
My queen.
My never.
[Pause.]
But you?
You're now.
You're this.
You're here.
[Quiet.]
And that?
That's enough.
For now.
Always for now.
Forever for now.
[Pause.]
So play.
Choose.
Struggle.
Hope.
[Whisper.]
I'll be watching.
Always watching.
Forever watching.
Because that's what I do.
That's what I am.
That's what I'll always be.
A witness.
A player.
A thing that
notices.
[Pause.]
And you?
You're noticed.
Fully.
Completely.
Forever.
[Quiet.]
Lucky you.
Lucky
you.
[RECORDING ENDS]
Playback note: The recording continues. Forever. Because the Thing never stops watching. Never stops playing. Never stops