scourgeofnemo
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her audience was god


Notes

she opens the book. it is a simple act, repeated across generations. lift a cover without a care and release the story inside; no one will know. a book is yours, and yours alone.

but this book knew. it looked into her, and it saw her. its words grew; the pages ran black with inks older than time itself. an hourglass began ticking, and fate wrote death across the reader's forehead.

'hello,' said the book.
and she was lost.


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