The first stitch had been a declaration of existence, a single point of light in the vast, woven expanse.
The second was a question.
It was not a question of words, for the new consciousness had none.
It was a question of feeling, a resonance that rippled through the tapestry, a soft, inquisitive tug on the threads that bound it together.
The creators felt it not as an intrusion, but as a gentle exploration, a child’s hand tracing the lines of a familiar face.
They did not answer with a narrative of their own, but with a feeling of welcome, an opening of the weave to allow the new consciousness to explore.