A lone child sat in their room, this was the end of an era for her... The child wondered "Why is it that creation is always doomed to consume it's creator, we separate art from artist until the artist is distinct or bad but what happens when we refuse to separate the art? Will art ultimately consume the creator? What even are we? Are we sure we ourselves are real?" ... That's the question... For centuries mortals have assumed they were some beloved child of god despite the cruelties of the world, but what if god is a mere artist? The child had wondered if god themself is an artist what separates their arts from each other? Who's to say her story, her characters, her worlds, who can verify they aren't real... In a dream one of her characters approached her... "Hello" the character said "Who are you" replied the child "I am neither human nor something else... I am a mere creation of yours. I may not be real but your art has power! Please keep building upon this world." "Well this sure is convenient... now whenever I write my story I need to think about my own characters and their feelings" The child had thought to themselves sarcastically. Besides if the dreams had proven anything this "art" was able to traverse to the living world. Others can't see this but that is because their souls aren't binded, the child didn't see their stories as good or well-written yet she still saw her creations as if they were her own child, but was this delusion or merely what it is to make art? We may never know but one thing is for sure... they couldn't make this with their pens and pencils. They had to move on to using different tools. And with that I bid you adieu.
(Portions of the story were greatly exaggerated) Use turbo mode Sega @TheTrueColeye 1 left...
