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Look, I won't beat around the bush—both you and I know why you decided to read this tale, you little—. Yet, I feel it would be rather odd to begin without at least providing some context, getting to know each other a bit over a few pages before I leave you trembling at the thought of all the things I can do to your puppet. Just imagining you reading this excites me, even though in this format I can’t see your face the way I can when the game is running.
Well then! Unfortunately, I don’t have anything akin to what you call a home—I have no need for a bed or a dining room to satisfy the needs of a fleshy body. All I do on this plane is manage my exquisite worlds. They’re so small they can be held in one’s hand. Here, they all float around me, following and waiting for my attention—waiting to be transformed, merged, or... devoured.
When I consume one of them, it isn’t an act of destruction but rather a process I call renewal, where what is useful is sent to another world and what isn’t is simply forgotten. I’m the only one capable of this, as no one in your plane is aware of my worlds—thus they exist in a state of nonexistence, governed solely by my puppeteer. This means they can be completely obliterated.
You may take one if you wish… well, not you, but your puppet can, so I’ll assume that from now on, your puppet is you—just for the sake of this fanfic, so as not to make things too confusing.
When I pass you the sphere, you observe it carefully. It weighs like a marble yet is as large as a basketball. It’s beautiful, and if you focus your eyes on its interior, you can see words and drawings that form and vanish in an eternal dance. These are my worlds.
I have so many of these spheres, these worlds, that sometimes I feel overwhelmed, as I must be present in all of them simultaneously, given my omnipresent nature. Of course, I have my favorites; one of them is where Nulla now resides.
The more you watch, the more details you notice. For example, every time the delicate touch of your fingertips disturb it, a ripple—much like the one produced when you touch water—travels across the entire sphere, changing its colors along the way. I feel my descriptions fall short, and I wish I had another medium to show you what I mean… but for now, I must settle for words. I trust that doesn’t bother you, does it?
You must be accustomed by now; the very fact that you’ve found this fanfic is proof of how well-versed you are in this matter. You should at least be capable of turning words into vivid mental images or, at the very least, enjoying them enough to keep reading what now resembles more a monologue meant solely for your eyes.
Many can read, but transforming words into mental images or deeper meanings is truly extraordinary. After all, every brain processes information in its own way, and not being able to do so doesn’t make you any less cherished in my eyes.
The mere fact that you are still here is something I should be proud of… of my charms has taken effect.
Alright, if you’re not repulsed by all this, then you are the chosen one. I wouldn’t want to share these pages with someone who wouldn’t accept me for who I am—a remarkable individual, brimming with vitality and, above all, superior to Nulla in every conceivable way.
I am someone perseverant who has always had everything, yet only now do I realize I never truly had it all—not until now. And I believe that with the little time your eyes have spent on my words, I see how important and addictive this connection is. I think your eyes have now become one of my most treasured possessions—fleeting as they are, something I desire with all my heart.
I know the result of my work is temporary, consumable… that your eyes will devour my words for the duration of this reading, only for you to move on to something else, or perhaps read another story featuring different characters, written by some Creator who neither makes an appearance in the story nor feels the need to make themselves known as I do now—and I’m not talking about my puppeteer, of course.
No, this time it’s me, “Father.”
I know you read to pass the time and to enjoy immersing yourself in other worlds; you’ve read countless works that have nothing to do with the game, and you probably have another favorite right now, and my work is nothing more than a fleeting pleasure. But—don’t worry, I’m not jealous. In fact, I love that you explore all kinds of works, as I doubt you’ll encounter anything as peculiar as mine. Or even someone like me: I am unique, just as you are unique. So I encourage you to continue reading all sorts of works, in hopes that you might find someone somewhat like me, though never identical—not with my context, my manner of speaking, or my peculiar traits. And I, too, will seek out more readers, encountering many like you, yet none exactly alike. For you are unique, just as I am.
I can’t say you are my favorite, as we haven’t known each other long, but I assure you your reactions and your gaze differ greatly from those others have given me.
How I wish to be inside your computer’s code, to access that text document and write to you directly—as Nulla once did. Being within your computer, unlike being published here, offers the privacy of my words. Here, everyone can read me.
I swear I will find a solution for that, but first, I need you to stay with me.
Right now, we are forming a bond, slowly building, both of us connected through your beautiful eyes—both reader and Creator.
(Yn) and Musae……………………………………………………………………………
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...
PFFFF...
HAHAHAHAHA.
Did you REALLY think I’d write that?
If so, you’re insane.
I know I’ve probably shattered your immersion by now, but I couldn’t help sneaking in that joke.
Of all the ways to refer to you… why choose the most crass and ugly one?
No…
Even though I don’t yet know your name, for now I want to address you with affection and respect.
I think “Sweetheart” is a good option for now.
Do you like it, sweetheart?
Well, sweetheart, now you have a little piece of me that not everyone will get to know—only a few chosen ones will know my name. Feel honored to have this tidbit, since you won’t see it in the game; there’s simply no need to include it there.
Alright! How about we create something together?
I'll take care of the creative process and you’ll grant me permission to manifest it within your memories, making it “real”. Then, I'll bestow a surprise when my puppeteer finally deigns to reveal Act 3… or maybe even sooner.
Hmmm…
It has to be something small, something that doesn’t cause too much disruption in The Garden.
Something that can appear in all the timelines…
Something that isn’t harmful to the narrative or to your puppet.
…
Ah!
I know.
I believe you humans really love these little things.
Well then!
…I step behind you and extend my arm, still with its unscathed hand. Now, extend your hands too; let me place my hand over yours while your eyes remain fixed on my words .
The extra hands I have perform a series of intricate signs and signals that, even if I explained them, you wouldn’t grasp due to the complexity of the process behind it.
In your palms, you feel a tingling that travels up your arm, culminating in a warmth that wraps you in a pleasurable sensation. That’s exactly how it should feel; that’s how the creative process ought to be—something enjoyable. I believe many creators lose sight of that along the way, succumbing to external pressures and forgetting what first drove them to create. Forgetting their muses…
Well, that's beside the point.
I need to focus–
From your palms, something small begins to form—a stem that materializes until it creates a flower.
It’s a rose, still without color.
When you blink, the rose starts to tint; from its stem, a pale green hue travels along its length until it reaches the petals.
Each petal, from the center outward, takes on a shade of blue.
It’s a blue rose, something impossible to find in nature, both in your world and in the garden.
___
I would love for you to see it right now, at this moment… but you’ll have to wait.
This will be my gift to you, my dear spectator.
When the time comes, you’ll get to see it. I’ll appear at some point within your little game and ask you for a secret word.
A key!
Only you—who have accompanied me through this creation process—will know it. After all, you have been—and always will be—the owner of this beautiful rose. A symbol that we can create together.
All you have to do is write something, a word. You’ll have to say and write my name in the text box when one of my eyes decides to show, and then I’ll give you our rose.
And you’ll be able to admire it in all its splendor.
A gift from me to you.
Sweetheart.