As Noah decimated a Yeti King in one area of the First Folds, a victory that resonated with the raw, brutal music of his own becoming, another, quieter tragedy was unfolding.
Nearby, an unknown number of Fold Light Years away, a certain Living Concept sat in a daze, his very existence a weaving with a gaping, inexplicably blank patch.
He knew, with a certainty that was its own form of torment, that something was missing.
But he did not know what. It was a phantom limb of the soul, an ache for a memory that had been so perfectly, so clinically, excised that all that remained was the shape of its absence.
It is a phenomenon not unknown to lesser beings!
You walk into a room and forget why you entered. You know there was a purpose, a reason, a thought that propelled you across the threshold, but it is gone, leaving only the frustrating, maddening echo of its importance.
You stand there, a fool in a doorway, knowing you have lost something you cannot even name.
