Are You Even Human

"Your stories of the native populations inspire both fascination and horror," Pathless Wanderings Gladden Futures says, his small, sinuous body twisting through the water around me, always on the move. "Reverify information: your kind is incapable of inhabiting seven-tenths of your own planet?"

"It is undoubtedly so," I confirm. "We cannot breathe the water, only the thinner atmosphere above it. Further, we are not adapted to long periods without breathing, or long periods floating in liquid. Though we are capable of crafting objects to assist with these issues, this area of our world remains largely inaccessible to us."

It's the second day since arriving here in The Divinity of Wonder's territory, the other Angels urging me to get some sleep after I told them how far I traveled to get here. When I awoke, I found that they had all decided to take turns following me around, asking me questions, and answering any questions of my own while the others did their usual duties and tasks. Pathless Wanderings Gladden Futures has been accompanying me so far, and to absolutely no one's surprise he has recommended I tour the territory in no particular pattern or order, simply swimming where my whims take me as he follows along.

He (or they, or whatever; neither human sex nor gender has a particularly good analogue to alien equivalents) is a surprisingly small Angel, both the smallest Angel I've seen and the smallest alien I've seen period. Despite having a very similar form to a Leviathan, all sinuously serpent-like, he's more like a particularly friendly eel than a sea serpent of legend.

"And so you must fight for solid surfaces without any option of retreat, but when other Queens take your land the false pull crushes their limbs and renders them immobile. Terrible. Terrible Terrible," Pathless Wanderings Gladden Futures laments. "You will have our aid in finding a solution to this matter, sister. We promise this to you."

"That means a lot to me," I tell them. "Thank you."

"Discomfort. It remains concerning how you manage to state your emotions rather than simply express them."

My tentacles squirming in irritation, I obligingly exhale the concept-slash-emotion of my thankfulness rather than the word representing it. This, unfortunately, makes the Angel even less comfortable, the ever-present scent of concern about me only growing stronger.

"…Isolating singular emotions to express rather than the fullness of your self is no less uncomfortable, but the attempt is welcome," Pathless Wanderings Gladden Futures says. "It will be alright. We will help you."

"This is not the manner in which I have requested to be helped," I grumble.

"We will assist with both things!" Pathless Wanderings Gladden Futures assures me. "The needs you claim take priority over the needs we think you require. But we will not ignore the latter and still act as though we care for you. You are far too young to have the scars you bear."

Young? Really? I guess I don't really know how old any of these Angels are, but I'm certainly an adult by my own people's standards.

"One of the people I must help is half my age," I say. "I am more than old enough to take whatever scars in place of her that I must."

"Wretched realization. Horror. Sympathy," Pathless Wanderings Gladden Futures wails.

"Suggestion: decrease frequency of unpleasant revelations if possible," A Blossom of Wilted Chances chimes in, pinging the network with a request to swap tasks with Pathless Wanderings. "Pathless Wanderings Gladden Futures has the heart of a Queen and the mental fortitude of regurgitated food slurry. It would be warranted to introduce your horrors more gently."

"Woe! I find myself unable to take offense to your scurrilous remarks due to their unfortunately high accuracy," Pathless Wanderings Gladden Futures laments. "Request accepted! I will bother the workers in your stead."

"I do not bother workers, I supervise them," A Blossom of Wilted Chances insists.

"By berating them and purposefully placing impediments in their way!" Pathless Wanderings Gladden Futures counters. "Definition: bothersome."

"It assists with their future efficiency," A Blossom of Wilted Chances stands firmly. "They require a firm counterpoint to your kindness. As does, I suspect, our new sister."

"Regret! I fear I have left you in dire circumstances, Thief of Torn Wings," Pathless Wanderings Gladden Futures squirms as he begins to swim away. "Believe in your strength, as I do! I wish the best outcomes upon you!"

"Amusement," I respond. "Appreciation. I will be fine, Pathless Wanderings Gladden Futures."

"Indeed she will be," A Blossom of Wilted Chances harrumphs. "Go now, you wandering layabout. Spread your joy elsewhere."

"I shall!"

He swims off, quick as a whip, while A Blossom of Wilted Chances makes her way over to me at a more sedate pace, her willowy tendrils trailing slightly behind her as she moves. She is, to my understanding, the Princess of this particular colony, which is to say she is being trained to one day be transformed into a Queen in much the same way she was transformed into an Angel, at which point she will depart and form a colony of her own. That said, it is my understanding that this process tends to take many, many, many years. I'm not exactly sure how long; the aliens don't seem to be all that good at keeping time, but they estimated it would be thousands if not tens of thousands of Earth-length days. Blossom herself, by her own admission, is in no hurry to make the change.

"Let us stop speaking of you and yours for the time being," A Blossom of Wilted Chances says as she approaches. "I think the entire colony could use a break."

"Has my life truly been that bad, by your standards?" I ask. "None of the others of your kind I've spoken to seemed as disturbed as you by what I am, what I've done, or how I speak."

"It was not their task to care about you," A Blossom of Wilted Chances answers simply. "On the contrary, it seems you have fallen into conflict more often than not. Many other priorities had the attention of their minds. It is not so here; our colony has an uncomfortable abundance of free time, and it will be used to your benefit whether you appreciate it or not."

"Overall, I appreciate it," I answer. I appreciate them doing the things I actually asked for help with, anyway.

"Your words are so full of tricks. I warn you that they will not pass me by like they do the others," Blossom says, coming to a stop as I swim up to meet her halfway. Her body is an interesting mix of seemingly useless decoration and lethal brutality, a veneer of beauty hiding weaponry with enough strength and speed to punch through steel plating. Everyone here has already let me scan their biology, but I still instinctively form a pair of her blade limbs out of my back when my domain overlaps her body. She signals amusement and appreciation.

"I am proud of my form," she admits, swishing her tendrils back and forth. "The Divinity of Wonder and I worked together to craft it after I told her I was unsatisfied with my first. That was also when she declared me her Princess."

Oh? That's two pieces of interesting information.

"Clarification: chosen may swap forms more than once? Additional clarification: what is a Princess, exactly? I was under the impression it was based on one's propensity to communicate with whatever blessed us."

"Answer the first: yes, though it can be more or less common depending on the colony and the Chosen themselves. It is the ability to reshape a chosen as many times as necessary that leads us to believe your loved one can be saved. Answer the second: your impression is partly correct. Continued communion with a god is a prerequisite of queendom, as a Queen that lacks the full force of a divine being's love is no Queen at all. However, not all who qualify choose to take the path, and there is rarely more than one Princess of a colony. To become a Queen is a rare thing."

Interesting.

"I speak with Possibility every seven day-lights or so," I admit. "The Queen of Blasphemy I sort of befriended called me the 'first future Queen of my kind.' I am not entirely sure what it means."

"It could mean many things, depending on the particular worshipper of Blasphemy. They are ever a contentious lot. As you and I share a Queen, you are not our colony's Princess. Though I suppose that, given your blessing, you could choose to become a Queen without requiring another Queen's approval… and just as easily cease to be a Queen as you will, which is an odd possibility to consider.

"But not a bad one?" I press.

A Blossom of Wilted Chances slowly rotates upside-down, splaying out her tendrils and revealing her far more dangerous limbs. It doesn't really look like a threatening posture, though. I'm not quite sure what to make of it.

"Many of us would tell you there are no bad possibilities," she answers. "As I am sure you understand, they are stupid and incorrect. To accept all futures as equally valid is to reject one's own agency, and that is an ignorant way to worship a god that expresses love for how sapience expands the bounds of potential. To summarize: never listen to Chaos Erupts in Indifferent Blessings, his knowledge is as fragrant as his waste excretions."

"By denying the possibilities you do not like, you deny parts of Possibility itself," Chaos Erupts in Indifferent Blessings calls out from somewhere else in the territory. "Possibility has no preference for the nature of the future; therefore, we embody Possibility's values most wholly when we cast aside our fears and regrets."

"See?" Blossom addresses me. "He may as well be worshipping Contradiction. He claims worship is to cast aside preference, yet his malleable heart is so easily smeared by empathy that he has not ceased to be concerned for your future since your very first words to us. His preferences are most clear! He calls me rude but by his own admission it is his kindness that is a failure of faith! To think a fool such as him calls me a child."

"You twist my meanings, A Blossom of Wilted Chances, and you are fully aware of this!" Chaos complains. "To accept failures is not to deny desires!"

"Indingance! Do not speak to me of Failure, ignorant one," Blossom hisses back, her jabs suddenly a lot less playful.

"Apologies. I will concede for now, conditional on your reciprocal truce."

"Agreed," Blossom huffs, flipping back upright and then suddenly teleporting beside me, causing me to immediately end synchronicity and prepare for a possible attack. "Your reflexes are good."

"Please do not startle me," I say.

"Request denied," Blossom says. "I believe my mind wandered before your question was fully answered. No, your ability to choose your own nature as a Queen rather than have it gifted to you is not a bad possibility. You remain in no danger, Thief of Comforting Scents."

"Please refrain from renaming me," I say. "Additionally: I do not wish to be startled because I do not wish to hurt you by reflex."

"Amusement. Condescension. Pride. I was not named Princess for lacking the might of a Queen. If you think you are capable of harming me, then you are free to attempt it. Perhaps a mock battle will help you feel more at home."

She teleports around me three more times in quick succession, but I don't rise to the bait. Instead, I just expand my domain a little around myself to keep her from popping in too close. Or… at least that's the idea, which is why I get extra startled when she pops in close enough to flick me with several of her tentacles at once. I grab them on instinct, preparing to burrow my domain into hers, but my wrists explode into a shower of gore, detaching my hands from my body, and then she's suddenly behind me. I twist around and grow more eyes to keep track of her, but she teleports backwards and…

"Amusement! Amusement! Amusement!"

…Starts laughing?

"Admonishment!" The Divinity of Wonder reacts in horror.

"Blood? Food? Danger?" several Raptors inquire.

"Positive. Negative. Negative. To A Blossom of Wilted Chances, a query: why this?" Chaos groans.

"I am fine," I assure everyone, recollecting the detached biomass and repairing my body before adding crystal scales as armor. I have no idea what happened to me, but I want to figure out how to ensure it never happens again.

"Indeed, trust your new council member! She is not injured! Amusement, amusement!" Blossom titters. "What a mighty blessing, to ignore such damage so. Truly, she is the most fine of all of us."

God, why did I let my guard down? I mean, I guess there's no permanent damage, and she only did what she did because she knew there wouldn't be, but it's not like I enjoy getting cut up!

"Please excuse A Blossom of Wilted Chances," The Divinity of Wonder requests. "She does not sting whom she does not care for. Truly, she has made great progress since when she first arrived here under my aegis. Progress I hope she will endeavor to share with you."

"Inaccuracy!" Blossom insists. "I sting many that I do not care for, and I sting them the hardest. Even one as broken and injured as our new council member could surmise that much. Alternate possibility: she understands BECAUSE she is broken and injured. This was no true fight."

"Stop calling me broken. Or injured," I insist.

"If you desire this you will need to avoid bringing up the topic altogether, as you cannot change my views without changing the facts," Blossom taunts.

"My Princess. I give to you a warning," The Divinity of Wonder rumbles.

"Reconsideration: I am able to refrain from further verbal offenses at this time," Blossom backpedals.

"Doubt," Chaos Erupts in Indifferent Blessings says.

"Doubt," Pathless Wanderings Gladden Futures agrees.

"Woe! Our council lacks a mote of faith for their Princess. I have no recourse but to continue smugly being more loved by our god than them."

"A Blossom of Wilted Chances, please," The Divinity of Wonder groans.

"I will accept your offer of a mock battle, A Blossom of Wilted Chances," I butt in, officially tired of this. It would be helpful to know her abilities anyway, in case this gets worse. And if I win, it's a lot less likely to get worse. "Assertion: there is a better solution to your arrogance than begging and hoping for civility."

"Joy!" Blossom calls out, twisting towards me and approaching with a single powerful push against the water. "Nothing humbles arrogance quite like an arrogance matching it."

"You will be disappointed if you think humility will fix whatever you find wrong with me," I say, "but I am rather confident it will help fix you."

Her domain once again overlaps mine, fighting inconclusively for control as dissonance crackles between us, Possibility itself wanting neither of us to get hurt. Blossom and I stare each other down for a while, and then despite being weakened, she once again teleports in front of my face. There's no sound, no movement, no displacement of water. It's instant, simply as if she was always there.

I don't strike at her this time. I refuse to let her bait me like that.

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

"We will require rules for this bout," she hums. "Mocking reassurance: I wish no true harm upon you, Thief of Calming Mornings."

"Can you even cause true harm to me, A Blossom of Irritating Smells?" I fire back, my muscles growing beneath my skin, internal organs reshaping themselves into hidden weapons ready to tear themselves free. "I do not mind if you sever more of my flesh. It means little to me."

"Lamentations. There are now two of them," Chaos groans, he and Wanderings putting their tasks on hold to approach us.

"You know the location of my core," Blossom says, reaching up a tendril to point towards her own brain. "Make no intentional killing blows towards it, and our duel will remain friendly. All other harms, you may inflict if you are able."

"Objection! This is unnecessary!" Pathless Wanderings Gladden Futures protests. "There is no need for a chosen to bleed this day."

"There is no need for a need," Blossom says. "I will enjoy trouncing a fool who incorrectly believes herself to know wisdom and war. This is the only reason required."

The Divinity of Wonder shifts in place, causing countless changes in the local currents from a single idle movement.

"No," the Queen says. "Attempt this, and I will stop you."

"Agreed," Chaos says, clacking his claws for emphasis.

"Agreed," Wanderings says. "The majority rejects your proposed task."

"Predictable," Blossom complains. "Unfortunate."

"Please do not forget we are ensuring our new member's safety!" Pathless Wanderings Gladden Futures chides her, swimming in quick, anxious circles.

"Agreement. I am not threatening her safety," Blossom answers. "Thief of Joyous Occasions knows pain too well to not be its friend. My words are far more capable of causing her harm than my weapons."

Oh, now that's a challenge.

"Perhaps that is the battlefield you would prefer to fight on?" I suggest. "I am no stranger to sustaining and inflicting harm with words, either."

"Why is your former home so terrible?" Chaos sighs.

"Because people like you keep dropping out of the sky and murdering us!" I snap back. "Eight-tenths of people that were alive before your kind arrived are now dead because of you. Or… because of other councils, anyway. I know none of you have likely killed a native or even seen one, but you would have, right? If you had ended up on the solid surfaces, if your Queen was trapped and you were surrounded by domainless food, you would have killed and eaten it all, right?"

"Most likely," Blossom confirms before anyone else can answer.

"And so we live in torment and die in battle," I say. "If you want to call me broken for it, acknowledge first that I had no other way to be. I am not an injury. I am a scar. A hundred thousand scars, grown back from a hundred thousand wrongs in the only form I could find to repair the damage. And because of what I am, I have survived, I have won, and I have kept the people I care about safe. That is the only thing I care about here! Quit bothering me about all the things you find wrong with who I am! You've reacted with so much pity to everything I've said that I know if I DID share my thoughts the way you've asked, you would only end up MORE upset. I am uninterested in this."

A rare moment of relative silence fills the network, the usual glut of words replaced with flittering emotions, changing too rapidly to form into coherent thoughts for a few heavy seconds. Again, it is Blossom that breaks the silence.

"Comprehension," she asserts with an irritating amount of confidence. "I believe we can all agree I should teach our new sister no more this day. Chaos Erupts in Indifferent Blessings, entertain her in my stead."

"Accepted," Chaos agrees, swimming slowly towards me. "Suggestion: perform duties at the fringes of our territory for the remainder of this day, A Blossom of Wilted Chances."

"This is my preference regardless," she answers, teleporting a dozen feet away before starting to swim in the same direction. God, I barely even understand what happened, but whatever. I'm not being kicked out, at least.

"Please accept my apologies for her rude behavior," Chaos says. "Query: is there anything you would like to do or see while The Divinity of Wonder works on your request?"

"I would prefer A Blossom of Wilted Chances to apologize on her own behalf, but I will not demand it," I say. "Nor do I hold her rudeness against the rest of you."

"You are free to do so. The responsibility is shared," Chaos insists. "Possibility grants us many trials with our chosen council, it seems."

"Is that what you consider me?" I ask. "A trial to overcome?"

"Yes," he answers. "But this is no failing of yours, sister. You know that you are loved by our god. You were sent to us with purpose, and it is our duty to fulfill that purpose. If another council's skills were the ones that were needed to help you, it is to another council you would have gone. We have all lived then, when we were first chosen. You have simply spent much longer than usual away from those meant to help you."

"What do you mean?" I ask. "Possibility personally chose the Queen to send me to?"

"That is exactly what I mean," Chaos confirms. "There are at minimum nine other councils of Possibility currently in your world, assuming they still live. Regret: we have yet to meet up with any of them, and cannot confirm."

"Which means there's a chance you were simply the closest one," I point out.

"But there is also a chance there was one much closer, living on solid surfaces, and you were directed here regardless," Chaos says. "Our god speaks to you, does it not? You could simply ask Possibility, if you choose. Regardless of its reasons, of course, our duty remains the same. You may have been birthed of a different Queen—self-correction: of no queen at all—but you are our sister now. Your goals are our goals. And in return, our goals shall one day be your goals, or so we hope and believe. Such is the nature of a council."

"So it's an exchange, then?" I ask. "Or duty?"

Chaos expresses hesitance, taking a moment to decide how to answer.

"…No," he says. "I do not know how to use words to explain. It would be easier if you would agree to open yourself more fully, but I will not press the matter. Instead, I will endeavor to show you. I often forget that you were never a worker. It is strange to consider that you lack even that context."

"By process of elimination, the only forms of relationship remaining are love, mutual respect, affection, and things of that nature," I say.

"Oh! Yes. One or all of those," Chaos confirms.

"Then just say that," I sigh. "I do not believe in respecting someone because of what our relative social status happens to be. Respect is something that is earned. I do not dislike you, Chaos Erupts in Indifferent Blessings, but I ask you to leave me to form my own opinions about what this council means to me. You know the path I walk is different from all others before me, so do not presume you know how to clear the way."

He clicks both of his claws together with a deep boom, causing a pulse of water pressure to wash over me. I tense up, my body reshaping for combat before I realize that action, again, wasn't aggressive. It's just… something he does, I guess.

"There is wisdom in what you say," he concedes. "I will return to my original offer. What is it that you would like to do with our time?"

Hmm. I guess that's a good question. I give him a thankful nod, though I guess that's pretty useless. I'm keeping my brain mostly human to avoid too many automatic answers, since full-on alien brains would struggle to shut up. I'm just… not comfortable with that. I know they're being honest that they want to help, but that's asking too much. All of my thoughts and feelings, all of the time? No way in hell am I sharing that. That would just be awful.

Anyway, the question. What do I want to see here? I don't know much about how an alien colony actually functions. I know the Raptors—or the workers, as the aliens call them—hunt for food and bring it back to the Queen, who turns it into digestible food for the rest of the colony and regurgitates it into the feeding tubes of basically everyone else. Behemoths, Wasps, and even Leviathans are entirely helpless without a Queen, though some Raptors might be able to feed them in a pinch.

This creates a bit of an unfortunate power dynamic. Well… no, that's not true. This contributes further to the unfortunate power dynamic already present between powered and unpowered members of an alien colony. Raptors, Wasps, and the like are all people, with individual thoughts and feelings. I've met Raptors that had a religious schism with their Queen, and of course they were kicked out and left entirely helpless against humanity as a result. I may have left behind all the foibles of human society, but I have no reason to believe I've stumbled into something any better.

"I'd like to meet the non-council members of the colony," I say.

"Confusion. Please clarify," Chaos says, which… yeah, that's a pretty bad sign.

"The workers. The warriors," I say. "I want to meet them."

Immediately, I am flooded with hundreds of numbered unit designations and tagged greetings, immediately overwhelming me as the systems alien brains normally use to filter out irrelevant network calls are bypassed by the direct address. My body writhes with discomfort, tentacles lengthening and wrapping themselves all over the rest of me as I swap between four different faces. I… probably could have handled that just fine if I was going one hundred percent Angel brain rather than a low-alien hybrid, but… ow.

"…That is not what I meant," I answer, keeping the strain out of my words. "But thank you. I intended to speak with a smaller number on a more personal level."

"If that is what you wish, it is what we will do," Chaos agrees easily. "There are several groups assigned to low-priority tasks that can be easily reassigned as you choose."

"That is also not what I meant," I say. God, how do I explain this? I guess I don't explain this without being a total downer again. The alien language doesn't really have a good equivalent to the word 'slavery,' which… y'know, is another red flag! "Query for the purposes of clarification: all chosen were once workers, warriors, or some other non-chosen?"

"That is correct," Chaos says. "I was once a burning warrior born to a Queen of Reciprocation."

"Even I was once a worker for a Queen of Bliss," The Divinity of Wonder chimes in. "Most of Possibility's chosen do not come from under Possibility's aegis. Such is the case for many gods."

"And you remember this time?" I ask. "After your body is reformed, you retain your memories?"

"Of course," Chaos confirms. "To destroy them would be to destroy what our god has declared its love for."

"It is part of the sacred reformation process," The Divinity of Wonder explains. "The brain is remade, but the memories remain."

"How is the brain remade?" I ask.

"That is a difficult thing to explain," The Divinity of Wonder says.

"Is the personality changed?" I press. "Are you the same person you were, in entirety?"

"Confusion. Is anyone the same as they were? Even moments ago?" Chaos asks. "We are always becoming that which we never were. As time passes, one's distance from their former self increases."

"That answer avoids the intent behind the question," I complain.

"…Accept my apologies, but your manner of speaking makes it difficult to determine your intent," Chaos says. "Please elaborate."

"How large a change, in terms of who you are in your mind, occurs in the transfer from warrior or worker to your chosen form?" I ask. "More than would normally happen in a day? The same? Less?"

"More," The Divinity of Wonder answers. "The nature of one's relationship to the network is changed on a fundamental level. Where you were once a follower, you now lead. Where you once listened, you now speak. Where you were once the limbs of the colony, you are now its core. It is a challenging transition for all who undertake it."

Yeah, that checks out. I still remember the feeling of using a Raptor brain in the presence of an Angel. It was… overwhelmingly straightforward. I was only capable of mustering up the tiniest sliver of thought that I could, let alone should disobey them. The Angel brains I've used have had none of that instinct. They're far more capable of independence.

"This, I think, is the part of your history that horrifies me, rather than the other way around," I explain. "The idea that most people are lesser before they become chosen. That they are made to serve and nothing else. It disquiets me."

There's a subtle shift in the network, one that's difficult for me to parse. It feels almost like… the weight of attention.

"I am not sure I understand," Chaos admits. "It seems self-evident to me that they are lesser; we are blessed, they are not. This is a vast and objective absence. I do not see what part of this truth is repellant, but I will listen."

"Attempted clarification: there are multiple ways in which something can be lesser. I have slain several other chosen. They were, objectively, lesser than me in combat power and skill. There is no evidence to the contrary."

"If they are dead, then it is so," Chaos agrees. "You were their greater."

"I was their greater in battle," I correct. "But was I their greater in love? In spirit? In intrinsic worth?"

"If they are dead, then these things are unknowable," Chaos answers.

"Would they have been knowable when they were alive?" I ask. "Is love objectively measurable? Is worth?"

"I believe you are establishing that workers and warriors are our equal in many things other than faith and strength," Chaos says.

"I am establishing that there is no reason they could not be our greater in countless ways," I say, "and yet they serve and we command. Did this never hurt your spirit, when you were like them? Did this never cause you injury?"

"Not often, no," Chaos answers simply. "Sometimes, after a battle, the function of the colony was disrupted and I would go without task. This hurt my spirit. In the rare cases it occurred after my transformation, it still hurt my spirit. There is nothing more anathema to a worker than to be without work, nor to warriors to be without war."

"Additional alarm," I send. "You have an entire caste of person who gets upset if they go without fighting or killing?"

"There need not be fighting or killing," Chaos answers. "Preparing, fortifying, training… these are all good tasks. To be a warrior is merely to be ready for war, be there one present or not. But war itself is natural. It is nothing to be feared."

Are you fucking kidding me? Are they really this stupid? Why would they ever… no. They're zealots. It always comes down to that. And their gods have preferences. Rivalries. Every god, so far as I know, has at least one other god that they hate. Blasphemy hates all other gods! Of course they would have constant war.

And why not? None of them fear death. Damn it, damn it, damn it. This is the other piece of the puzzle, isn't it? I thought it was a little absurd that zero alien colonies figured out that we're people, but maybe some of them did. It just didn't matter, because they don't value lives in the first place!

"Sister? Are you alright? You are being even more silent than usual," Chaos asks.

Hold it in. Hold it in. There's a more productive way to tackle this than just vomiting out my emotions. There always is. People don't respond well to that, they never respond well to that. No matter how angry you are, you have to act calm and reasonable or you'll never be listened to. Gently maneuver the argument, nudging weaknesses and stepping around strengths. Plan. Think. But never feel. That's the only correct way to have a conversation.

It's hard. It's always hard, but all of a sudden it's an unrelenting pressure inside my skull, doing everything it can to push past my defenses and let itself out into the world. Everyone here keeps telling me 'just share your feelings, just share your feelings' and so part of me keeps asking, well, what if I do? What if I actually speak my mind this time? I'm literally being invited to. That's one of the best—if not the only—appropriate times to be fully clear and honest. Of course, even then, you need to be measured. Quiet. Purposeful. It's never alright to just outright say something like—

"RESENTMENT," I bellow into the network. "HATRED. YOU ARE ALL CALLOUS, THOUGHTLESS FOOLS."

Ah. Ahahaha. Oh, fuck. Well, I can't stop it now. My parents were killed. My life was ruined. I suffered the consequences of war for most of my life and then I was in it, and my family died again. I met an anxious girl screaming in the ruins of her own disassembled home, her family's corpses floating in the air around her. I met a traumatized child raging in a flurry of violence, her family's blood staining her face. We suffered apart and we suffered together, got rescued from hell by a new one, and got crushed and melted into gears to be thrown into a grand and brutal machine. And all of it, all of it, all of it, was because these maddened zealots just didn't think any of it was that big of a deal.

All of it flows out of me, my body twisting and thrashing and growing all the while. Damn them, damn them, damn them! Even though part of me knows none of the people here were ever personally involved with it, it's their entire culture, their entire society that's ultimately at fault, and they're still contributors to that madness. Omnipresence as Worship spoke of Possibility colonies as well-respected, highly-regarded presences. They could have done something. They should have done something! But none of them think, none of them try to empathize, they just do their stupid fucking tasks and never change or improve anything about themselves and now I have to be the one to fix it all! AGAIN!

"IF NONE OF YOU FEAR DEATH, THEN WHY DON'T YOU ALL JUST DIE!?" I scream at everyone and no one.

"Because we still feel sadness, Thief of Torn Wings," Blossom's sharp scents cut through my deluge. "We still mourn."

"DOES NOT A SINGLE ONE OF YOU MOURN THE BILLIONS OF MY KIND THIS WAR HAS TORN AWAY?" I demand. "THE WAY IT HAS SEEPED INTO OUR BONES? THE WAY IT RUINED MY LIFE AND THE LIVES OF EVERYONE I CARE ABOUT BEFORE WE WERE EVER BORN!?"

"We had no way to know what to mourn," Blossom says, and I hate her answer, I hate myself for completely losing control like this. "But now, we do. And we will. Thank you for sharing it with us."

Hundreds of individual minds wail in despair around me, surrounding me with sympathy, understanding, and pain. I don't comprehend it all. I still haven't really let them in, not from a single outburst, not with a mostly-human brain. But that brain does know to do one thing. Despite how far I am underwater, the many eyes I don't remember growing all start to cry.

"You are ours, and we are yours," The Divinity of Wonder promises. "If stopping a war is what you wish for, it is what we shall do."