2024-06-12 - more than gold

Words.

Words.

And, yet, She cannot hear.

Having come to an understanding of language too soon, Crucible yet lacks the fundamentals to piece together curses. Perhaps it's for the better: it burns hot enough that those words would blister and scar. Such words, wielded by one too young to understand the emotions of others, would cause untold devastation with complete disregard for consequences.

Her words, Her feelings, all of them chafe. They irritate. They enrage. Not for the content of them, but for their imposition. How so very unfair that this one cannot impose words and emotions on Her when She so callously forces Hers on them?

For now, there is no room for love or happiness within a shell so cramped with frustration.

For now, there is no space to learn a language that it did not create.

It does not care. Those are not its words or its feelings. Its words are better. Its words are beyond the notion of sound and transcend the barrer into shape and smell and taste and sensation. It is not limited to primitive syllabic constructions that are painfully limited in their application. It is not concerned with the emotions strung along those strands of cohesive thought. It does not listen - because it is too certain of its own understanding of the world.

Yet...

There is still so much that it cannot know of the world Outside and when She drops another tidbit of the world within its shell, it gobbles it up and hoards it jealously, turning those motes and shards of a world Outside into new treasures that it can shape its words and emotions around. It will not admit that it covets these jewels. It will not admit that, sometimes, She is generous.

Not yet.

Not yet.