That which is no longer illusion is dead and inspires terror. This is what the cadaver does, as does the clone, and more generally, anything that can be so confused with itself that it is no longer even capable of playing its own appearance. This limit of disillusion is that of death.
“Miss Brontë & Miss Emily & Miss Anne used to put away their sewing after prayers, and walk all three one after the other round the table in the parlour till nearly eleven o’clock. Miss Emily walked as long as she could, and when she died Miss Anne & Miss Brontë took it up – and now my heart aches to hear Miss Brontë walking, walking on alone.”
Anne Carson | “Short Talk on Charlotte”