confident and, some people swore, almost musical. She wasn’t
shouting, and yet her message carried surprisingly far, reaching
even the edges of the large throng of people who had gathered to
see and hear her.
She smiled
warmly as she spoke, as if she were telling them good news rather
than preparing them, it seemed, to accept the continuous existence
of the Fading and the illustrations that caused it. And so the
people around her smiled too, for they realised that this could not
be the bad news they would once have taken it to be.
‘ You
shouldn’t fear these illustrations, or the Fading,’ their beautiful
Princess continued.
And everyone
wondered why she said this, because they no longer did fear
them.
‘ To
explain, I need to tell you a story,’ their Princess said. ‘It’s
partly a story you all know well; yet now there is another part of
the tale that needs to be told. It’s the tale of the Porcelain
Child.’
Those who had
already guessed the truth nodded sagely, congratulating themselves
on their wisdom. For others, the truth dawned on them at different
points as she recounted her story, raising gasps of wonder, of joy,
of even something that felt strangely close to a spiritually
enlightening experience.
‘ As
we all know, the Porcelain Child was created through the most
incredible outpouring of love. Every child, I would hope, is
created through a shared love, such that that love is there for all
to see. Yet the Porcelain Child had to be created with an even
higher level of love, for every finger, every turn of a cheek,
every curve of its mouth, had to be carefully considered and
realised by her mother. The mother had to believe, too, that her
own great love would suffuse and inhabit her child, giving the girl
life. And the father, he had to believe too, in the mother and
their child. And his love for them both would have to be yet
another kind of love, a selfless love, a sacrificial love,
dedicating his own life to bringing life to another, to their
daughter.’
She paused, as
if to ensure that everyone had time to fully grasp the meaning
behind her words. Some of the people were already crying in wonder
and happiness. More people fell to their knees, blessing the world,
the whole of creation.
‘ Now
as tales of the child’s creation spread, love for the child grew
and grew throughout all the lands where the story was told,
listened to, and read. All these people, each and every one, wanted
to believe that it was possible to grant her life. And it was this
great love of everyone, this belief that the child will attain life, that eventually gives the child life. Gives me life.’
Now the whole
crowd gasped as they were filled with a shimmering joy.
‘ The
power of your great and focused love, your shared imagination, is
greater than you think. If enough believe, it can grant
life.’
Once again, she
paused, waited.
‘ But
I tell you this; it cannot give life to someone whose time has
come. No power, no wishful thinking, no magic, can prevent this.
And this is what you have feared; that the Illuminator’s
illustration where the cause of your passing and your
suffering.’
She shook her
head.
‘ This
is not the case.’
She briefly
waited once more.
‘ The
Illuminator knows that you fear – yes, even hate with your whole
being – his works. He knows, too, that you could never accept his
works like you love the Porcelain Child, a creation way beyond his
own limited capabilities. His own works are as nothing compared to
this outpouring of love, of joy, of belief in a better
life.’
The crowd was
silent, patiently listening to the Princess’s story.
‘ The
Illuminator realises that there’s neither love for him nor trust.
He is unapproachable, distant; and so you can’t be blamed for
misunderstanding his purpose. To rebuild your connection and trust
in him, you need someone you can identify with and already trust;
someone that you yourselves have given life to.’
She only
shouting, and yet her message carried surprisingly far, reaching
even the edges of the large throng of people who had gathered to
see and hear her.
She smiled
warmly as she spoke, as if she were telling them good news rather
than preparing them, it seemed, to accept the continuous existence
of the Fading and the illustrations that caused it. And so the
people around her smiled too, for they realised that this could not
be the bad news they would once have taken it to be.
‘ You
shouldn’t fear these illustrations, or the Fading,’ their beautiful
Princess continued.
And everyone
wondered why she said this, because they no longer did fear
them.
‘ To
explain, I need to tell you a story,’ their Princess said. ‘It’s
partly a story you all know well; yet now there is another part of
the tale that needs to be told. It’s the tale of the Porcelain
Child.’
Those who had
already guessed the truth nodded sagely, congratulating themselves
on their wisdom. For others, the truth dawned on them at different
points as she recounted her story, raising gasps of wonder, of joy,
of even something that felt strangely close to a spiritually
enlightening experience.
‘ As
we all know, the Porcelain Child was created through the most
incredible outpouring of love. Every child, I would hope, is
created through a shared love, such that that love is there for all
to see. Yet the Porcelain Child had to be created with an even
higher level of love, for every finger, every turn of a cheek,
every curve of its mouth, had to be carefully considered and
realised by her mother. The mother had to believe, too, that her
own great love would suffuse and inhabit her child, giving the girl
life. And the father, he had to believe too, in the mother and
their child. And his love for them both would have to be yet
another kind of love, a selfless love, a sacrificial love,
dedicating his own life to bringing life to another, to their
daughter.’
She paused, as
if to ensure that everyone had time to fully grasp the meaning
behind her words. Some of the people were already crying in wonder
and happiness. More people fell to their knees, blessing the world,
the whole of creation.
‘ Now
as tales of the child’s creation spread, love for the child grew
and grew throughout all the lands where the story was told,
listened to, and read. All these people, each and every one, wanted
to believe that it was possible to grant her life. And it was this
great love of everyone, this belief that the child will attain life, that eventually gives the child life. Gives me life.’
Now the whole
crowd gasped as they were filled with a shimmering joy.
‘ The
power of your great and focused love, your shared imagination, is
greater than you think. If enough believe, it can grant
life.’
Once again, she
paused, waited.
‘ But
I tell you this; it cannot give life to someone whose time has
come. No power, no wishful thinking, no magic, can prevent this.
And this is what you have feared; that the Illuminator’s
illustration where the cause of your passing and your
suffering.’
She shook her
head.
‘ This
is not the case.’
She briefly
waited once more.
‘ The
Illuminator knows that you fear – yes, even hate with your whole
being – his works. He knows, too, that you could never accept his
works like you love the Porcelain Child, a creation way beyond his
own limited capabilities. His own works are as nothing compared to
this outpouring of love, of joy, of belief in a better
life.’
The crowd was
silent, patiently listening to the Princess’s story.
‘ The
Illuminator realises that there’s neither love for him nor trust.
He is unapproachable, distant; and so you can’t be blamed for
misunderstanding his purpose. To rebuild your connection and trust
in him, you need someone you can identify with and already trust;
someone that you yourselves have given life to.’
She only
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