[No. No, that's not enough, not nearly enough, but he can't . . . it's so much to comprehend. It's almost too much: the concept of reincarnation suddenly offered not just as guesswork, but blunt fact; the realization that those were not dreams, but memories, but above all else . . . the fact that across universes, across lifetimes, they found one another. Over and over again, ten, twelve, twenty times, for even now, his thoughts scattered like marbles across a desk, he knows that. It wasn't one mere life.]
are you
did you
[Gods, he doesn't know what he wants to say. He keeps stammering over it, stumbling, his mind going in endless rerouting loops as he tries to understand that which rewrites his entire belief system. And what does it mean that he's lived through so much only to suffer in this lifetime? What does it mean to accumulate that much pain and grief and suffering? What does it mean that he feels no wiser, cleverer, better than he did, and what is the point of living and reliving— gods, what's the point of making him aware of it? Why here, why now? Why would Corellon care enough to give this to him, bastard child that he is?
It's too much. It's so overwhelming that he can't possibly parse it all right now. He doesn't know how long he pauses before adding in a haphazard scrawl:]
you were there in each and every one
you were with me. you were the only constant.
[For even as his mind races, it's that which he keeps coming back to. Those flashes of images and snatches of sound, oh, he wants to go over each and every one, scouring them hungrily for details.]
you were the only fixed point i had. the only thing that mattered, throughout every life.
2/2
are you
did you
[Gods, he doesn't know what he wants to say. He keeps stammering over it, stumbling, his mind going in endless rerouting loops as he tries to understand that which rewrites his entire belief system. And what does it mean that he's lived through so much only to suffer in this lifetime? What does it mean to accumulate that much pain and grief and suffering? What does it mean that he feels no wiser, cleverer, better than he did, and what is the point of living and reliving— gods, what's the point of making him aware of it? Why here, why now? Why would Corellon care enough to give this to him, bastard child that he is?
It's too much. It's so overwhelming that he can't possibly parse it all right now. He doesn't know how long he pauses before adding in a haphazard scrawl:]
you were there in each and every one
you were with me. you were the only constant.
[For even as his mind races, it's that which he keeps coming back to. Those flashes of images and snatches of sound, oh, he wants to go over each and every one, scouring them hungrily for details.]
you were the only fixed point i had. the only thing that mattered, throughout every life.