My world, or the world I perceive, the I world I behold is a dark world. It is punctuated by isolated flashes of brightness and small, persistent glows in the deeper grays of a mundane twilight. It is a world of magic, but that magic is inconsistent, and often falters before it reaches crescendo.
My world knows evil and Evil. It sees Good as a worthy cause, but one that will make you either live to become the villain or the martyr.
My world is senseless, chaotic, and filled with incomplete systems of being, manipulation, justification, and illusions of truth.
My world is beautiful, contemptuously familiar, and frighteningly strange.
Of course, my world isn't even mine. But the owner hasn't come to claim it yet in my lifetime.
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