There are not enough worlds to matter on the tips of our fingers. Counting off as if they have a purpose. Ten of them lined up and flicked off the wrist into oblivion or what we conceive of it.
Once upon a time there lived a being who could face in every single direction every moment of the day. Their name was Doc Diventia and when they spoke, their voice sounded like breaking glass. There is a boy who sits on the surface of a still lake, and tells stories to them. There is no time here. Only stories.
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