[That is said more to himself the anything, Whistler murmuring under his breath as his thoughts try to follow where Ignis is headed.
He never knew what sight was like. Never lost it, so to speak. And in many ways he's come to believe that in its own way was a small blessing. At least he never had something and then had it taken away. He was simply born into a sightless existence and could then, with a blank canvas, construct his own world of sounds and sensations unhindered by any passing memory of sight.
He wonders what it must be like then, not only to have sight but to stand on a precipice between having and not having.]
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[That is said more to himself the anything, Whistler murmuring under his breath as his thoughts try to follow where Ignis is headed.
He never knew what sight was like. Never lost it, so to speak. And in many ways he's come to believe that in its own way was a small blessing. At least he never had something and then had it taken away. He was simply born into a sightless existence and could then, with a blank canvas, construct his own world of sounds and sensations unhindered by any passing memory of sight.
He wonders what it must be like then, not only to have sight but to stand on a precipice between having and not having.]
Sure. I can teach you.