"It's not like - " his hand sketches out the shape of his thoughts in the air. "It's not like changing careers."
"Think of it more like a chemical transformation, if it helps." A wry snort, and his mouth twists in the semblance of a self-deprecating grin. "The alchemy of the soul, if you want to be poetic about it. Dreams into nightmares, et cetera. Your, mmm, substance, your - the spaces between your molecules, and the way you scratch your nose - is made... not what it was. Violently."
As illustrations go, it fails quite spectacularly. But - how do you explain being made of light? The Presence in your breath? Being taken apart and put back together wrong, filled up with the fractured bits of before and moving to the grind of broken glass?
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"Think of it more like a chemical transformation, if it helps." A wry snort, and his mouth twists in the semblance of a self-deprecating grin. "The alchemy of the soul, if you want to be poetic about it. Dreams into nightmares, et cetera. Your, mmm, substance, your - the spaces between your molecules, and the way you scratch your nose - is made... not what it was. Violently."
As illustrations go, it fails quite spectacularly. But - how do you explain being made of light? The Presence in your breath? Being taken apart and put back together wrong, filled up with the fractured bits of before and moving to the grind of broken glass?