My words echo through the broken world, reverberating and transforming what was once my life.
This is for the best… I think to myself, my eyes holding no tears right now. Only… a desire to refresh all of this.
It's not long before the entire world becomes crimson dust and ashes. I observe every single detail as the life I once knew crumbles piece by piece. It's beautiful and tragic at the same time.
My own body feels like it's enduring the weight of an entire universe. It's crushing me, tearing me apart, yet I don't die.
Why?
Is it because I'm the author?
I'm not supposed to disappear, am I?
I look at the quill that has taken the place of my arm. It's a little different from what I've seen before. The patterns are delicate, as if crafted by the hand of a master, each line of the ornament shaped to represent something—something I can't quite grasp.
