This is a story about a playwright. A savant. A mutant, at the end of the night (oh my!), though that wasn't the important part. What was important was his words (yay!), his stories and his plays. They inspired, they uplifted! They were wonderful things. They brought out rumours, incited rebellion (uh-oh!) and were loved by lowbloods and highbloods alike. How wonderful! How joyous! How easy it was to be the entertainment of the masses, to be the focus of their attention (wow!). How scary, too. His words spurred others to create. To love and live and thrive. Including his matesprit (aww!). They could spin straw into gold as he wrote, things of wonder that they were. He was crafty. Quick-witted. Able to make you feel like the most important troll in the world- why wouldn't you want to listen to him? Or he could turn his tongue sharp, insults that ache like a barbed arrow in your side (ow!). And oh, dear reader, here is the tragedy of our playwright! For you see, he knew our world was doomed. Our society was not built to last! It was made instead to devour us, over and over (true!) and that we will continue to suffer under it. And so, he made a plan. A play designed to tell this tale. To make others see the flaws. To warn us all, noble and mutant alike, of the tragedy that would continue if we weren't careful. His beloved helped- a favour asked to broadcast his performance live. How sweet! And oh! How the crowds came flooding in. Nobles, here to see a play about the Empress. Of course they'd be here. And his matesprit..oh, his poor, dear matesprit, he didn't know, did he? That our wonderful playwright, our savant, our inspiration, had written himself as the star of the show. His words bit at the nobles, a swarm of angry gnats that stung and bit and angered until- BANG!(Oh no!) No more playwright. No more darling savant. He didn't even get to see the chaos he left. The rampage from his silly little goose. The way he was handled. They tried to erase him, dear readers. But we won't forget so easily. Your story has been recorded. A message comes with this tale, for @televisedAviamor "Death is as much a part of life as learning to love is. That is to say, love cannot last forever. It wouldn't be special that way." ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏ 𓆩Tale told𓆪
I don't think you're bluffing! This is the real deal, isn't it? Congratulations! WELL DONE! (CROWD APPLAUSE) You surely got your point across! Telling a story is your deal, and you sure do tell one (⒈)! A shame that it's a tenuous pretense; you want to leave an impression the only way a dead person knows how to. Haunting you like a terrible reminder of all the things you Just Couldn't Do. No story wants to be forgotten. *You* don't want to be forgotten. I don't blame you for getting attention this way. But is this the way you want to do this? I'm sure you have great stories of your OWN! Vesper was a good man, and as glad as I am that you've told his story, there's a reason why I keep it under wraps, ESPECIALLY under the public gaze. So for both our sakes, why don't we let sleeping barkbeasts lie?
You've given me something to think about(yay!)! Am I doing this for attention? I didn't think I was, but I could be wrong. I know I'll be forgotten anyway. I just want to give some the chance to be remembered while I'm able. ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏ 𓆩Memory recorded𓆪
Do you want to be forgotten?
Between you, me, and your average bystander, Altruism is inherently selfish: everything you do for other people is done in your self-interest. What you do for other people is what you long for yourself. (CROWD LOOKING DIRECTLY AT YOU) So is this an archive or is this entertainment?
What's so entertaining about a tragedy?
I think people love to watch the misery of others to forget their own. Still, I'm sorry. I'll go and remove names at least. ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏ 𓆩Story found𓆪
I can go ask if you want a better answer! ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏ 𓆩Saga Archived𓆪
Tell him that his death ruined my life.