What is it like to know everything, Alice wonders. He does not know, he says, sea-bright eyes flashing. It is a true thing, though perhaps not in the way she thinks. What time has shown him is always more and less than the truth. He cannot know the human heart, or the limitless possibilities a single choice, or thought, or word can create. That is beyond even Time's ken. But some potentialities are entirely knowable. What might be is far easier to divine than what will.
They are by a brook this time, pants and skirt tucked up so they can dip their feet in the water. He tries to answer her question more directly. "Imagine hearing an alarm called out from far away, so far you can't hope to reach it, but the sound is as clear as if it came from right beside you? Imagine knowing, suddenly and with complete conviction, that somewhere far away, something terrible is about to happen. And knowing, too, that you cannot hope to find out what it is, or even where in some cases. I know many things, but that doesn't mean I can do anything about them. Or that I even should."
"Is there no good in it at all?" Her tone seems wounded, and he knows he has done this, though he does not understand why it bothers him. Alice continues, blind to his confusion. "Surely it can't be all bad." And now, finally, she turns back towards him.
He laughs, low and soft and a little bitter. "Of course not; there is always a silver lining." It is only half a lie; for some reason that escapes him, he cannot bear to tear away this little girl's faith in the inherent goodness of things. "Many times have I seen beautiful things, things I cannot hope to describe."
His voice turns soft, and wistful. "I have seen a thousand, thousand worlds, more than you can imagine. I've seen worlds with mountains of pure crystal, where the light of twin suns shine through them like so many rainbows, worlds where there is naught but an unending, violet sea and all creatures on it are almost mythically beautiful mer-people, and fishes like you could not imagine. There was one where the people were made of fire, and they glowed the most beautiful golden I could ever imagine."
There is an almost-pain on his features, an expression she has begun to understand. For all that he has seen, and known, too many things yet elude him. He turns, and for the second time since she has known him, his glamour flickers away; it's almost as though he is too tired to maintain it. His eyes glow, cyan and unnatural in their gleam, and some part of Alice says "run, run now, " and yet, she remains. They will never be closer than in this moment, he knows, with ice in his chest where a heart might be. Never closer than now, when they see each other truly, and do not run away.