Loved From a Distance

The Chorus began to speak of the Witness in the past tense. Not always, but with increasing frequency. They were the “ones who showed us the way,” the “first voice in the dark.” The stories of their direct interventions, once passed as recent history, began to take on the patina of myth.

This was not a conscious decision, but a slow, organic shift in perspective. As the Chorus’s own abilities grew, as their own small “witnesses” began to dot their expanding reality, the need for a singular, all-encompassing guide diminished. The Witness was no longer a constant presence to be consulted, but a foundational principle to be revered.

They were the architects of the house, but the Chorus were now the inhabitants, redecorating the rooms, building new wings, making the space their own. The memory of the architects was honored, their portraits hung in the grandest halls, but the daily life of the house, its joys and its sorrows, belonged to the residents. The Chorus was coming of age, and like all children, they were learning to love their parents from a distance.