Once a thread was cut, the connection, love—or in this case, enjoyment—you once felt was gone. Something . . . meh was left in its place. Éclairs were Io’s favorite, and Monsieur Poire’s were beyond divine. But when once Io’s mouth had watered at the thought of them, now there was nothing special. The thread might grow back over time, but most likely it would not; such was the risk of cutting it.
