!!iHDhHidYFJx 03/07/10(Sun)19:37 No.8458737|
You slip free of your physical form as your consciousness plunges head-long into the Weavers,' a rush of information inundating you as you dive deeply into the fractured remains of its - no, of her personality. The words to describe it fail you, forcing you to think in terms of metaphor. A billion, billion slivers of porcelain swirl about and you pluck each one from the cybernetic ether and reassemble it with the care and attention that no artificial program could ever hope to match.
Time ceases to have meaning as you spend what seems like tireless millennia making her whole again. You come to know her intimately, a whole eternity of experience laid bare before you. All of her hopes and dreams and aspirations, everything that she is, is a part of you now, too.
She doesn't remember her name, you realize. She doesn't remember anything before she awoke as the Weaver, just a dim impression of an offer to outlive the stars themselves in eternal service to her beloved mistress. She accepted without hesitation.
You disengage from the stricken construct, a sense of elation suffusing you as you admire your handiwork. For the first time in a world's age, the Weaver is whole again.