Perfect Blind
"The Y’s. Seven, six, five, four. Building a case. Building… what? An army? A museum?"
"A record," I said. "Proof that you existed. That they existed."
"And now you’ve found the first. The prototype. The proof of concept." She moved into my peripheral vision, leaning against the wall, arms crossed. "Do you know why I chose a violinist?"
"Tell me."
"Because violinists know about possession. About being possessed by the music, by the composer, by the bow. They understand that the self is… optional. That you can be a vessel. Empty, and therefore perfect."
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