"Please!, Please, I beg you Lord Author, not me! Not me!" Sebastian begged while sobbing.
He had just received grave news, He was to be the main character.
"Why can't it be someone else? Someone exciting!" Sebastian protested, pointing accusingly at the sky like a lawyer presenting evidence. "A white-haired guy with blue eyes—that's what the audience wants!"
"It sells"
"So you do know?"
"Then why are you picking me, I've got brown hair and brown eyes, Do you know how statistically average that is?"
"You don't care"
"Why?"
"You're sabotaging your own story, you know."
"Okay then I accept, but only one scar"
"NO?"
"Okay, two… four… What do you mean in the millions? Wait, let's exchange for emotional damage—emotional! Better! Why are you adding mental? I didn't say mental!"
Sebastian waited for the punchline.
It didn't come.
"That's...That's abuse of narrative power!"
"You, stop—no, I'm not done bargaining! Wait! Please! Please! I hope you die single!!!
Sebastian's protest died somewhere between outrage and existential despair as the invisible hand of narrative authority ignored him completely.
Tragic.
But also predictable.
It is after all the Supremacy of the Author
So, I bet you're wondering why I am so pleasant.
Well, you're right to be curious.
The reason should be fully attributed to him—Sebastian. And of course, you'd want a description to remember him by, being the main character and all. Not that it would help much.
Sebastian—if memory serves—stands just under six feet tall. Tall enough to be noticeable, but not intimidating.
Well… that's a lie.
He is short and lacks any such aura.
His hair is a warm chestnut colour with subtle copper highlights that catch the light in a way suggesting movement even when he's perfectly still. His eyes are an unusual amber-grey, Oh sorry a bit of colour blindness. lets move on, a shade that seems to shift depending on lighting and mood, giving him the appearance of quiet intrigue.
Unfortunately, intrigue does very little when negotiating.
He has a lean, athletic build—someone accustomed to activity but not obsessed with muscle. Practical strength rather than vanity. His features are sharp without being harsh: high cheekbones, a strong jawline, and a faint dimple that appears whenever he smiles.
A small scar rests just above his right eyebrow.
A modest scar.
A lonely scar.
One that was, very shortly, about to receive extensive company.
Sebastian had, moments earlier, attempted to negotiate with the narrative.
His proposal had included:
A white-haired protagonist replacement
A scar exchange program
A strictly emotional damage policy
All very reasonable requests.
All immediately rejected.
The Author, as it turns out, is not democracy.
So what was our unfortunate protagonist doing right now?
Well.
This unlucky fellow—bound to endure a series of deeply Unfortunate events—was currently being dragged across the forest floor.
Not by a human.
That would have been mercifully straightforward.
Perhaps some terrifying otherworldly creature?
Also incorrect.
The culprit, in this case, was a tree.
A humble tree.
A quiet tree.
A deeply hungry tree.
Its bark-like tendrils had wrapped around Sebastian's ankle and were steadily pulling him through the dirt with the calm determination of something that had discovered lunch.
Sebastian clawed at the ground.
"THIS IS NOT FAIR!"
The tree did not respond.
It lacked both ears and empathy.
"WHERE ARE MY FRIENDS?!"
A reasonable question.
The answer was simple.
They were nearby.
Really close.
In fact, they were standing less than thirty metres away.
The problem was that from their perspective, nothing unusual was happening.
Because one unfortunate rule governed this particular situation:
You can only help what you believe exists.
And unfortunately for Sebastian…
No one else believed in hungry trees.
He grabbed a rock.
Heroically.
Desperately.
And began hitting the vine wrapped around his leg.
The vine tightened.
Sebastian stared at it.
The vine stared back.
Well.
Not stared.
It was a plant.
But the intent felt personal.
"This," Sebastian said between exhausted breaths, "is discrimination against protagonists."
The vine dragged him another foot.
"Also I would like to file a complaint."
Another foot.
"WITH THE AUTHOR."
The dragging did not stop.
Sebastian looked up at the sky.
"I HOPE YOU DIE SINGLE!"
Somewhere beyond the fourth wall…
The Author smiled and added three future traumatic experiences to Sebastian's schedule.
How did all of this start?
Why was a perfectly ordinary boy to be man being slowly eaten by an overly ambitious tree?
And why was reality suddenly operating under rules that seemed suspiciously supernatural?
Ah.
That story begins…
four days earlier.