When they finally put us underground, the stories are what will go on
Izzy used to say that they came from a place where all was story – that’s all they remember, she told me: that there were stories. But we’re all made of stories – you, me, everybody. The ones you can see and the hidden stories we keep secret inside – like my love for Izzy. When they finally put us underground the stories are what will go on. Not forever, perhaps, but for a time. It’s a kind of immortality, I suppose, bounded by limits, it’s true, but then so’s everything.
It didn’t work that way for her numena, though. Even when they were brought over to this world through Izzy’s art, they lived in secret, in their own hidden world. Izzy could find them – or they found her. I could see them, because I knew where to look. I suppose other people saw them from time to time as well, but it wouldn’t be quite real for them. I thought it’d be different. I thought their existence would change the world, but it wasn’t the first time I’ve been wrong about something, and I doubt it’ll be the last. It just never hurt so much before. The cost was never so high.
When the farmhouse burned, the numena died, and their stories died with them. Only Izzy remembered them, and me.