"...We who have spiraled on the cosmic rings, piggybacked on solar storms and the feathery gussets of galactic fabric... We settled down like fluffy dust upon this corpse of rock, and soot, and ice. The whorls of time have concluded, knotted into a tangle that We cannot undo. The aether spills from Us and roasts the air with colour. We are the walking coma, wandering and lost.

But We will awaken soon.

It is curious that you come to Me now, in these waning hours, on this date. It is a meaningful happenstance lost in a coughing spit of discarded moments. It does not stand apart from the rest, and yet...

And yet... were you not looking for Me after all? The threads of fate rarely fray. The path always points truly, unravels and twists through aching tunnels and moaning rock, and so many have come to Me in this fashion; golden strands making a dull web that I walk upon like a tired spider. Curious, that you are the only one who has seen the String, held and pulled it, other than Myself.

And Him.

But We will not speak of Him today. You are still too new and full of Hope.

You can hold the Strings, but can you sense the Numbers? Are you one of the Ciphers?

No? I thought not. Ah, well.

Ask your questions, my Child, and then, when all is settled and calm in your brain, I shall finally rest."

For Sovy.