Dear reader,

How long have you searched these dusty shelves for a home that was yours only for a few hours? You can no longer lose yourself in a novel quite the same way, but you still try. Do you fear never being the same again or staying the same forever? Flip through the same pages you touched so long ago, hoping, hoping that maybe you’ll regain some part of your past self.

Will you risk remembering who you used to be?

Dear narrator,

Have you grown tired of your tragedies? Scrawling words into pages, over and over as the muses demand. Maybe someday you will grow brave enough to step out, break through that fourth wall you were never meant to see (but you do), save the loved one you know will die from the start, but for now you only hide behind your words.

Will you walk into your next chapter, voice shaking, hands covered in ink and blood?

Dear hero,

You walk a path walked thousands of times before, retelling your story. What’s worse—performing a play that no longer is anything but the memory of an action or the absolute silence that happens when the curtain is closed? You say you fight evil but you no longer know what that means. Do you miss when you had fire instead of tears in your eyes? You wish to escape and yet this is the only thing you are.

Will you step into the unknown and write your own story?

(Not the prompt, sorry)