Twelve bodies, twelve links, one will.
I could feel each of them the way I felt my own fingers — not as separate people I was juggling, but as extensions of a single hand. When one of them turned to look at something, I saw it the thought "look" had even finished forming.
When one of them touched, I felt the sting arrive somewhere in the back of my skull, distant, like a memory of pain rather than the thing itself.
But feeling them wasn't the same as using them.
There was a difference between having twelve hands and knowing how to play a piano with all ten fingers at once. I could move each clone individually well enough — walk, talk, hold a conversation. That part came easy.
Formation magic was a different beast. More accurately, the type of formation magic I had in mind operated on an entirely different level.
