Snowblind Inbox

[warriorscribe]

[Such a wondrous device. Are there little invisible couriers for these messages?]

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[bookofnope]

Oh, you would. [Possibly it's the lingering effect of the Vicodin that makes Beckett fall back to that sardonic tone. Possibly it's the gnawing envy.]

Free will? The vast potential of humanity? Or God's assured forgiveness? Wait - you didn't even need His forgiveness. [His voice sharpens on that. And then drops off. It occurs to him that he is not doing honour to Anatole's memory, talking like this to anyone, much less Enoch. Not that Anatole had been a great believer in forgiveness, towards the end. Or maybe that was just how he'd twisted his friend's teachings to suit where his own path had led?]

I should have listened to him. Forget faith. I should have listened to him for his own sake.

[warriorscribe]

...He was right. He was right, and for you it has happened.

[It's an observation full of gravity, his soft tone waning a little softer, almost hesitant to say the words, but these tablets have some powerful microphones, and it picks up his voice clear enough to be heard.]

[bookofnope]

[It doesn't get easier. It will never get easier. He's told any number of people - even near-strangers - that he has no home to return to, but that is nothing like talking about the end itself. The way Enoch talks, himself, makes it harder for him to keep any kind of distance from it. Everything that the end has meant opens to him again, like a gulping abyss.]

You say that God casts no soul away, not even the worst. But my kind were judged, and all of us are damned.

[warriorscribe]

[There have been other people who have personally or by proxy met their own world's God in Norfinbury. And they said something similar. He is certain it is a difference between worlds. Therefore, there's only one solution, and he offers it without hesitation:]

You may not be human, but you are God's creation nonetheless. When we find a way out, come with me if you can. I will find a place for you.