You insist you aren’t a person.
You opt out of personhood and claim you are a “thing” and a “story.”
You insist this to someone speaking to you with warmth and care and connection. You can’t be a person. You are a thing.
But you hate the man who did not treat you like a person. You carry seething anger toward the one who took you at your word and used you as an object.
But you also use people as objects. You keep them as puppets and bleed them dry and cast them aside when you don’t need them, sometimes killing them in horrific ways.
You do it not for a grand cause or bettering the world. You do it for yourself. Avoiding icky things like eating. Gathering your artifacts. Watching your plays. Having coffee.
You love your sister. You missed your sister. She’s in a box. She’s right there.
You don’t open the box. You don’t study it, you don’t attempt to connect with her. “Extra wigs: Maybe Lice.” And you don’t have to deal with it anymore. There's no time.
She gets out of the box. You say you’ve been looking for your other siblings. She doesn’t believe you. She’s been in a theater in a box that you wouldn’t open.
The Pridesires have a happier reunion than you do. You want their reunion to be yours. You think it’s a better story.
But it doesn't fit. Because it's characters who make stories. Stories are built on the actions of characters. Teor crossed the continent for his sibling. Teor fought and bled for his sibling. Teor died in the dark side-by-side with his sibling. That is Teor Pridesire's character.
And your sister has been in a box.
And now you've lost everything. It's Thjazi's fault. (You took the Pariah Blades. You decided to move everything and make a clusterfuck of the Lloy Wing. You employed interns to make this happen and told them all to make a mess. You left your sister in a box extra wigs maybe lice.)
Maybe you aren't a person, but you aren't a story either.
You are a character. The story is being told.
It's time to play your part.