He knew he could not get close to Ays, for Ays was the part of himself that was distant. He could only ever be a phantom in Ays’s reality, reaching out to touch, to communicate, yet fruitlessly because he was mute and limbless. In some strange way, even though he knew himself to be the author of Ays’ life, he was but an observer on the boundary of it; helpless.
-Storm Constantine
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