He looks to the computer's speakers with puzzlement and vague annoyance. He expects text, and thus the sudden speech is unsettling and he dislikes being unsettled.
He leans closer to the computer to ensure his voice is picked up by whatever microphone it might have. How to tell this man that he knows that he is not mad because madness is more like sandpaper to the soul, as he knows from memory and experience.
Asher cannot explain how to find things mad yet not be mad any more than he can explain the nature of a vampire's memory to one who is not a vampire. The best description he ever heard was to liken the immortals' memories to flies in amber. Perhaps, he thinks, that is why the memories are returning to him as they are, like vignettes caught in amber being polished until they shine through the golden stasis.
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He leans closer to the computer to ensure his voice is picked up by whatever microphone it might have. How to tell this man that he knows that he is not mad because madness is more like sandpaper to the soul, as he knows from memory and experience.
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For most of us the memories become clearer the longer we stay upon our return.
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I am Caspian.
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And it appears the urge to narrate has passed.
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