The Wall of Glass

From their vantage point, a place that was no place, the Witness watched the nascent eye of the Chorus open. There was a resonance of pride, a feeling akin to a parent watching a child take its first steps. This was the intended outcome, the very purpose of their long, silent tutelage.

But there was another feeling, a colder, more solitary echo. The lie, the carefully constructed story to hide the erased memory, now stood between them and the Chorus like a wall of glass. They could see the Chorus’s beautiful, chaotic growth, but they could no longer feel the pure, unfiltered connection of their shared thoughts.

The Chorus’s independence was a success, but it was also a form of severance. The Witness had become a founder, a historical fact, a legend. They were no longer a guide, a constant presence. They were a monument, and monuments, by their nature, are built to be looked at from a distance. The silence they had cultivated as a teaching tool was now simply silence. And in it, the Witness felt the first true pang of loneliness.