“I need more will. We need the substance of the will itself. Without the willpower of others, my own power alone will not suffice. It isn’t in this life that my being is freed, but in the world that I fashion. The drugs are only an imitation of this, I know that now…” Kether tells Antony in a dream.
“Kether, I want to believe you can leave, but you must become who you were born as, not dying without it. Listen to me. There is a path. Every repeat is eternal, but in each is a chance! Please listen to me!” The guardian angel pleads from its wall crucifix, the analog more clear than usual. He is in the form of the white porcelain mask cracked through the top and bottom, a sorrow hiding behind its smile.
“This is all there is! This is all there is!” Kether screams from the stone in a psychosis coming on, needles of many kinds still stuck in his form that lies on the bed of raised stone.
Antony’s mind flashes with burns in his soul, how his soul has been cursed with this saying. The angel, while patient, does not know how to gather himself before the ignorance. He wonders what to say, quiet following from what Kether said.
“You can—cannot end.” The glitching of the analog noise from Antony fuels a burn deeper into the both of them. The uncertainty of synchronicity hurts them both in different ways. Another pause follows after Antony’s answer.
“You must be the screams of spirit they warned about, and so I am alone,” Kether replies in a flat certainty, choosing a dream come true over him.