"The tragedy is," Moiraine said slowly, her voice cool and bitter as sea mist drifting over jagged stone, "if we, the Living Paradoxes, didn't summon the very Inevitabilities the deeper we dwell in the Doorways to the Loom... we would have already carved entire dominions into it."
She stood with her back straight, her hands folded at her waist as if delivering a war strategy before a council of kings. The light above the Early Veiled Shore cast long gold shadows behind her, but she remained radiant, as if the light came from her and not the sky.
"We are in harmony with Paradox, Sir Osmont," she said with care, "Our nature aligns with it. We could wield it, shape it, bend all of existence around its contradictions. We should have flourished."
She turned her eyes toward him now- measured, burning behind the civility.
"But every step we take draws out more Inevitabilities instead. They rise from the Loom like antibodies to purge us. And so…"
