You don’t know this but they’re there. The voices. At first they come to you as whispers, soft as a gentle breeze. When you learn to quiet your mind, you can hear them. And then they never leave.

And as soon as you’ve learned to quiet your mind, you’ll want to unlearn it, so that the noises around you come back to block them out. Because you really didn’t want to hear them in the first place and you certainly don’t want to hear what they have to say.

But they are there. They always were, always in existence, and I will tell you what they tell me as precisely as I can, no matter what they have to say, they will tell me all about you when your time comes. And it will. They assure me.

If you heard their voices, then you would know their stories. They are mine and they are yours. And therefore we are bound to tell them.

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Newt's Third.
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The Escape Artist.
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