In the red of night, the melted soup that was once a child weeps. A transformative glow tends to the mess, angelic hands piecing the child back together bit by bit. The tears of Change run down a newfound face. A girl raises her new hand; she dabs the rose-warm damp from under her eyes. Her first sight looms into view. Her hands are red and wet. The blood of a dead little boy soaks her undersized tunic, and stains her freshly woven form. Maybe now she’ll finally be allowed to grow up.
okay. so the looms were originally used to torture the timeless child through regenerations. okay. i can be normal about this. every time lord is born from the same thing that was used to torture the timeless child. OKAY.














