Prologue |

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Prologue |

What defines a person?

Is it the creation of personality shaped through experience and genetics?

A Pandora body molded from clay and water fired within the purest fires for a soul dressed in silver and gold, or so old tales say. And yet, people could never be so perfectly crafted and free of flaws. Although, suppose even fire clay often cracks and shatters. Mistakes made are like flies to a frog in the beauty of freewill. The End was merely a crack along Earth's surface, such a defining crack was no larger than any others placed by humanity. Cracks upon the body, mind, soul, and surface all become proof of the existence that is human. But if a human is to be a person then the question still remains.

Is it freewill then?

Surely there is a better answer. Because total freewill is smoke to glass covered in cracks. There is no freewill just as there is no perfection molded. Then maybe, it is not the illusion of freewill but instead the awareness of such truth. Although, suppose self-awareness can only define a human of mind but not soul.

What could a soul be but the being of all persons?

There is not much known of souls but that each person has their very own. A stamp of trade and route placed by whichever creator lays beyond the truth. If every person has a soul that defines the mold which is their body, then it could be the soul that defines the human as more than: a person.

If this is the case, then a new question remains:

When the dead rise with bits and pieces of soul stuck in those cracks, is such still the person they used to be? How much soul is needed to be a person, and could souls be shared?

"So I ask you," I whispered softly, the virus throbbing through my body and tears dripping down my face as I stared at the monster in front of me. "Will you take my soul?" 

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