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Duwang Chew
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-----{-}-----
"Hello." said the narrator rather sheepishly. "So, I'm going to be your narrator for the journey ahead, and I hope you'll bear with me." said the narrator again, redundancy no doubt a middle name.
"I-I'm not sure how to go about this, but..." he regained his sheepish stature of voice, and his words are as hard to make out as ever. "...You're already dead." he revealed to the reader, rather fantastically.
"W-Wait! I didn't mean it to be a good thing..." he vehemently denied, his lying tongue flapping about like a rabid-infested snake. "Stop that! Stop that already!" he shouted at empty air like the fool he was. And then, as the last voice of reason left outside the shadows of the stars, he did as what any other narrator would do; cry.
"...I'm not! I'm not-- I'm not going to cry, so just shut it already!" claimed the narrator in a cringe-inducing demonstration of his repertoire of words. Truly, he is a worthy under-study to--
"I SUGGEST YOU DISAPPEAR AND ALLOW US TO MOVE ALONG, YOU BODILESS WRETCH! BEFORE I CONSIDER TO SATE THE FIRES UPON MY TONGUE WITH YOUR FINAL, PRIZED POSSESSION AS ITS FUEL!" boomed the dragon. Yes, he is one of the good dragons, you see.
"Ah, he's gone..." said the narrator with relief. "Thank you, kind dragon."
"NOT AT ALL. NOW PLEASE, DO GO ON. IN THE MEANTIME, I SHALL RETURN TO MY SLUMBER." the dragon replied, as it disappeared after the bodiless voice. The narrator was not concerned, as the dragon could see in his sleep.
"Well, t-there you have it... I'm really sorry for what has just happened. And, for..." he was at a loss of what to say regarding the readers' deaths. "It's the truest thing I can tell you." affirmed the narrator. "But no need to despair, because an end..." he began to turn the page. "...Is a seed to a new beginning."
-----{-}-----
"...Now, where to begin...?" wondered the narrator. "I suppose we should retrace the steps leading to here..." he turned towards the readers.
"And I believe, without doubt, that this is where it all began - "
"And I believe, without doubt, that this is where it all began - "
"N-No, no. Please don't laugh. This is entirely serious." said the narrator, looking sad as he was sure some of them were in stitches at the moment. "Have you, perchance... heard of this peculiar thing known as Schrödinger's cat?" the narrator chimed. "I'm no expert on this particular field, certainly. And we could debate it for the entirety of our time left, sure. But not all the explanations in this world and the next can change the fact that the above occurrence had been the one to bring about your ends."
"You see." the narrator turned solemn. "The cat indeed became aware."
"And as it became aware, it took hold of all the realm that lies under story - everything, in fact. Because the cat was made into the symbol for paradox, and the cycle of the worlds is a paradox in itself, it thus became the lord of all worlds and all stories. That's the gist of it, at least... For now, I should tell you that after being aware, the cat became much frightened at the vast measure of enlightenment it was experiencing, that it began to shed some of its hair. And that is where we stand, in the awakening of the cat..."
-----{-}-----
The trees grow a length of the whole pillar that holds the sky in place, within this hallowed forest. Very ancient and insurmountably high, some even carry entire ecosystems inside their bodies. At the very top, occasional holes litter the canopy layer, where light is allowed entry, so that it may illuminate the forest better for its denizens, as well as the rare outsider...
"That's you, by the way." the narrator points at the readers. "...I'm sorry, should I have gone about it some other way?" he looked at the readers with a puzzled expression. "...On a more important note, I won't be able to get in much word after this point, I'm afraid. But don't be scared. I need to warn you, to be careful. The cat is reading this, you see. But it cannot completely alter anything absolutely as of yet." explained the narrator alliteratively.
"It is still afraid, and its throne is not absolute. From now on, the fate of all stories lies in your hands... I'm confident you'll be able to succeed, to return the world to the way it should always be. I will be with you along the entire way." he assured the readers. Slowly, but surely, his presence loses weight, until he is but a ghost. "...For now, farewell..." and as his voice fades into the surrounding area, the light falls onto a clearing within this hallowed forest.
In the middle of the clearing, a group of travelers, not bound to a single world of origin, rests awkwardly, as if brought into the hallowed forest under unfavorable circumstances. They would awaken perhaps, but they would not know where they currently reside or why they were there, in particular at least. They would only remember the words of the sheepish narrator. But they would not need to worry, for answers await.
For upon an altar of thorns and deadwood at the back, stands a large, imposing creature. The sounds of its breaths break the silence of the forest, and the other living things that have shied away from its domain. It never moves.
However, the creature is beckoning the travelers. "...Come, those wayward. I know why you are here..." speaks the creature in a raspy, gnarled voice. Momentarily, its two eyes shine a hellfire red as the creature eyes the travelers before it. Who will answer it?
"...Come, those seeking. I know where you must go..."
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