The visitor s/he approaches seems to respond to their attention. Its form shifts, elongates, becoming vaguely human-like. In the space where its eyes should be, a glint of understanding—or recognition—flashes. And then, as if by mutual agreement, they both step forward, their energies intertwining. The human feels the boundaries of their body begin to blur, their perception stretching, fraying, until s/he’s no longer fully within themself. S/He is teetering between *what is* and *what could be*.
In this shared state, the human glimpses fragments of their own possible lives: a sophisticated theorist s/he never became, a philanthropist s/he never was, an intrepid traveler s/he never dared to be. Each choice, each life, is as real as the last, existing in a fractured, kaleidoscopic eternity. For the first time, s/he realizes that their regrets are merely threads s/he chose not to follow. But here, now, with this visitor, s/he feels that s/he could touch each possibility, each potential their life might have held.
The visitor shifts, projecting its own fragments into their mind. The human sees endless scenarios in which the visitor itself might have taken form: a healer, a warrior, a star-drifter caught in some eternal journey. S/He realizes, with a shock of empathy, that this visitor is trapped—bound to wander the infinite maze of its own unfulfilled lives, never settling into any of them. The subjunctive *is* its life. The entity has no “now,” only a collection of *if only* and *might have been*.