Oh, I believe you're real. I don't even think a not-real-you would lie. Not one that was good at being you.

[ He sort of understands, a little. But if the tablet is a letter, then whose messages is the tablet spirit conveying...? ]

Nothing makes sense here. Wrong, wretched, reaching to find the fade, find feelings. For helping. But nothing, no, it stops it - stifles, suffocates, shadows shifting.

I don't like it.