229: megan (norvair, the weaver)

i keep to myself, for obvious reasons. inside my pocket dimension are so many souls, i’ve lost count. but there are enough to give rise to a city, a beautiful walled fortress called ebonarch. this city is shaped by my thoughts, which are informed by the people inside. i remember the first, a girl, emilia … she … she never left. some people get pulled out. i don’t know why. the only thing that is constant is that whenever i’m in danger, people will be pulled out to help. emilia was my childhood friend, the first victim. she and i were playing in the orphanage and i touched her arm and she disappeared. for weeks i didn’t know where she went, none of us did, until one day, i heard her voice in my thoughts. she was alone in this void of a dimension i had created simply by being born of the weave. she spoke to me, telling me that she was alone, scared, drifting in inky blackness for what seemed like eons. all she wanted was to see the sun again. and so i gave that to her, i gave her the sun, and grass, and trees and water. and as i got older i began stealing others into my little world, and they asked for things to help them feel at home, and i gave them walls and houses and ore to mine and the freshest air to breathe. i tried to give them paradise. the time in my world is different, it moves faster than in norvair. people aged, emilia grew older, married a man, had children. died. that was nine years ago. i had to stop it, i had to slow it. i almost died, spending all of a darkwinter meditating, trying to slow ebonarch down. i think i’ve succeeded. but it is a city now, with its own populace, it’s own people. and now you see i wear gloves and stay away from people, because i’ve taken enough people into this land. i don’t need to take any more. that is why i’m alone, sir, and why i plan to stay alone.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.