The words of the Painter shook the room… and it paused for a moment, as if it wanted Eos to fully appreciate the weight of its words before it continued,
"Everything I had not yet done. They loved, built, fought, cooperated, invented languages…."
The Painter seemed to have been transported to the first Existence, as its voice became a bit more wistful, "They ate and drank, had children… they died, and mourned, and they began again. All of it was new, all of it was happening for the first time in any reality that had ever existed, and I sat in the stands, and I took it in, and the taking in was the most extraordinary experience of my—of what I then learned to call my—life."
It's paused here, and Eos made no sound; he did not even move an inch, and the Painter nodded in satisfaction before it continued its tale.
"I had been attention without object for an eternity. Now I had object. And I discovered that the object was better, the richer the beings on the floor suffered."
