I don’t write my stories, I merely record what I see and hear…

Sometimes it’s like wandering into a room where there’s an animated conversation occurring, and I get to watch for a while, and occasionally I can ask one of the non-participants, crowded around to view the action, what’s happening, and why. Sometimes I don’t know all the answers, or the history of a conflict, or the nature of the relationship between those speaking or fighting or plotting or wooing. Sometimes I have to take my time to find out, savouring each delicious moment, while all the time recording what is said, in case I need to refer to it later.

These characters pay me no mind, which is useful as I, playing the sleuth, endeavour to find out what I can about these people while attempting to avoid upsetting the flow of the conversation, or the action. It seems voyeuristic, and I suppose it is. It can be rather liberating to be invisible, being able to get in close to hear whispered words, or to take time memorising the smooth lobe of an ear, or the curve of a breast. To smell the summer-like breath of a beautiful woman, or the foul stench emanating from the crusty maw of a demonic Hell-spawn.

I am immortal at times, able to see the life span of an individual or an Empire in one sweep of my gaze. I am boundless. I am God.

That having been said, I find that when I try to affect the actions of these creatures, the world itself can begin to deteriorate, to crumble and fall. Suddenly, nothing is as it should be, and reality itself begins to rot from the inside.

This is why I try to avoid sticking my nose in where it isn’t wanted. I’ve learned that I may look (and record) but not touch. I am a God within limits.

I know my place.

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