In the linked story, I think that the guy should've wished to immediately cease existing, instead of never having existed. Then, he could've gotten what he wanted and not made the universe wonky for a bit.

Also, more plz!

They gather outside of the hall and I am reminded of the good days. The days before my trip across the bitter water, the days when I was someone.

They burn offerings between cold, shaking fingers, and I love to stand with them and inhale it all. The angst, the gnawing hunger of their inner demons, the bitter acidic breath of those who have fallen since I last saw them.

But most of all I love the smoke. What a brilliant creature humanity has been. A blessed herb of the tribes who had dwelt here long before my People came across the seas, and my own turn it into a possessive entertainment. They yellow their teeth and rot their lungs, but for those here a demon who kills slowly is preferable to one who coos in their ears and begs for swift death from a crush of steel or the sickness of choked vomit.

Mike always goes in first. He's been here ever since I began coming to these things, as I sit on the edges and watch them. Sometimes, like tonight, I go in to help him. The old hall is almost as dingy as his skin; the yellow ashiness of late stage liver failure, and still he fills the pots and puts out the cheap crumbly cookies that dust in your mouth and make you drink more of the bitter hot muck that the old-timer call mud.

Heh. Old-timers. I was there when first the Stoics claimed sto krasí vrísketai i alítheias, as foolish addicts died in the gutters of Athens. Then I had been one of His favorites; beautiful and bare-breasted and feral. I had been one of many, and my curse was hidden behind my mask as I reveled in wine and flesh and death.

Now I sit in the ashes of His making. Microbreweries on the corners of posh places, rotgut bottles for pennies on street corners in the poor places. I watch the walking dead trudge into their seats as Mike tries to start conversation.

"How's tricks, Mae?" He grins, wincing and grabbing his side. He teased me when he was still healthy, claiming I was a common harlot, seeking money from wounded men. Still he makes the joke, even though he is one of the few in your kind's memory to know my name and my secret. "Too expensive for dying men. What did they say about your procedure?" I asked, taking the cup of mud I was given and sweetening it with cream and sugar.

"There's not a liver for a failure. I already fucked up my last chance, why I got this chip." He smiles, playing with his one year chip and showing the nimbleness of his youth for a moment. "Maybe your friend will take it when it's time?"

I smiled, a rare thing in this place, and patted his shoulder. "I make no promises, Michail. Perhaps you will be met by angels in a chorus."

Mike coughed then, the handkerchief dotted with tarry spittle. "Ain't met an angel yet, Mae. But I've met you, so maybe you can put in a good word."

He followed me to my seat in the shadows, where I sat and listened to their stories. Mike had given up on trying to get me to go forward, but never truly gave up the idea.

That kid up there? She's lonely. Hurt. Afraid. She feels she is less than human, that somehow she is broken. If only she knew that this thing we suffer could lay anybody low.

I sat with the walking specter and when I rested my hand he took it. His eyes were already turning, and I feared that it may be out last time to spend together.

"Well, we're just about wrapped for the night. Is there anyone new here that needs to speak, or a regular who hasn't given qualification and wishes to?" The speaker, a beautiful woman whose ancestors hailed from the place the blind poet called the land of burnt faces, looked across the old timers in the back row.

I felt Michail's hand squeeze gently, and felt the need to do a kindness.

As I walked to the small table at the front of the room I felt their eyes on me. The mysterious woman, the quiet one, who had been at meetings as long as most of them could remember. The lurker, coming up to speak to them. It had been long since I saw awe on the faces of the faithful; the followers of the Shepherd, once, or when those men had walked in the tranquil gardens of Artemis high in the sky.

And in myself I felt fear. And it was not unwelcome. A tingle in the pit of my stomach, a flush of heat over my skin like being seen by a lover in an unflattering pose. I took in a deep breath as Naomi gave the stage to me, and prayed to the Sisters that I was ready.

"Hello. My name is Mae. And I am an alcoholic. This is my testimony."

[removed]

Quietly, you activate the artificial tooth by biting down on it. This will slow down your metabolism to the point that you will pass for dead.

As you wait for it to take effect, you ask one question. "Will you allow me the dignity of an open casket? I want our children to see me in the casket at my funeral."

"You are accepting your fate?" Chen Xu Liu replies as she studies your face. Xu Liu is a master at face reading but has not used her skills on me, her stoic husband before.

You begin to see worry move across her face as you start to get tunnel vision and fade into oblivion.

The next thing you see is a ceiling of a van or ambulance. It is dark, and you hear voices outside in a parking garage. They are speaking Korean. You know the exact part of Seoul they are from by their dialect.

You slowly start to regain control of your body, but each minute feels like an hour. You can move your hands now, but they feel like they are restrained. Or just really heavy like you're made of stone.

Julian said the effect took 1 hour after i gained consciousness before before I had complete motor control.

I close my eyes and pretend to be dead.

Boogeyman is just a generic monster/myth creature to frigthen children. The monster in a closet is just one subtype. That is a boogeyman, baba is a boogeyman, the sack/bag man is a boogeyman, Krampus is a boogeyman, they're all boogeyman.

Your heart is pounding.

“Those…those can’t be…”

The more you look at the photo, the more certain you get. They have to be from “Gods Quest.” They look too familiar.

Running inside, you slam the door open. It hits the wall with a thud, leaving a mark.

“Where is it. Where is it?”

Video games fly around the room.

“It must be here. I know I still have it”.

Just then, something catches the corner of your eye. Under your bed, you see a lone game, with dust on it. It’s been years.

You look around for your old G64 and boot up the game.

“The NPCs were featured on the title screen” you think to yourself.

As it’s booting up, you don’t believe your eyes. The landscape is the same. The buildings are the same, but something is different.

Where the NPCs should be…there are just silhouettes.

You frantically search for the post card, finding it next to the bed, flipped over. On the back it says “We know what you did. We’re coming.”

Oh. Well all the opinions are the character’s, not mine. But I didn’t think I said anything that polarizing..

"No way!"

"I'm telling you, it's real. I saw the lights on, and people moving around in there and everything…"

"How is that even possible? I mean, we lost power almost immediately. The whole electrical grid was one of the first things they knocked out when they arrived"

"Possible? I have no idea. I don't know how they've even managed to stay alive, let alone sitting there out in the open with the lights on. You'd think they'd have been noticed by now. But I swear I saw it. Now come on, it'll be dark soon"

….

"Whoah… you weren't kidding. I mean, what are they doing in there? Look at them! Just F*#&ing serving waffles"

"I know, right? Just hanging out like it's noth…."

"SSSHHH!!!... Get down. I heard something."

"Over there, behind the trees. I think it's seen us… GO! GoGoGo!!!!..."

"Oh, sh*#, oh F$#@, RUUUN!!"

"Holy Crap that was close. Get in, get down, look for something to bar the door…"

"Have a seat, anywhere you like."

"What!?"

"I said, Have a Seat, Anywhere you Like."

"What? Are you kidding me? Didn't you see it chasing us? You better hide, or help us find something to block the door, and fast…"

"Listen honey, you best not be messing with my door. Please just have a seat somewhere and I'll be right with you."

"LOOK! Right the…"

"Hey, no, look! I don't think it can see us in here. It's just walking around like we're not even here"

"Whoah. That's new. I thought we were done for"

"Come on, folks. You can sit wherever you like, but please get up off my floor."

"Can I get you some coffee? Do you know what you want, or do you need a minute?

"Uh, yeah. You have coffee? I'll take some, sure…"

"Yeah, where are you able to get coffee? It's been ages…"

"Two coffees coming up. Anything else?"

"Ok, what do you have?"

"Menu's right there, you're looking at it"

"No, I mean, what do you have left"

"You're looking at it. If you need a minute, I'll just grab the coffee and come back. It's ok, take your time."

"No, no, ok, wow. I guess I'll have some hash browns, scattered, smothered and covered. Plus two scrambled eggs and a waffle."

"Great. And for you?"

"Same, I guess."

……

"Here's the check, whenever you're ready."

"Shoot, I didn't even think about that. How do we pay you? I think I've got an extra flashlight in here… Do you have anything you can spare to trade?"

"I don't know, I think I still have that extra set of socks from the other day"

"We take cash, thank you very much. Cash or you can come in the back, roll up your sleeves, and work it off"

"Well, we definitely don't have any cash…"

….

"So that's it. And I don't care how many times they ask, NO PANCAKES"

"Well, that was… thorough. How long have we been here? Feels like a couple hours…"

"But also like a couple weeks."

"I know, right? What is this place? I feel like I saw the sun rise and set more than once, but I don't think we've slept or eaten at all since we started training…"

"Right, well, you two seem to have a handle on things. Leroy and I are going out back for a smoke break."

"Do you see that? Looks like a couple of crazies are sprinting over here"

"Yeah, I see them. What are they doing?"

(Thump)

(Scramble)

"Holy Crap that was close. Get in, get down, look for something to bar the door…"

"Have a seat, anywhere you like."

I don't like how you inserted your political biases into the story but otherwise this is pretty good!

So even though he knew the person wouldn't accept his advice to ask for moderate selfish wishes like moderate wealth as well as his advice to not wish and walk away, he still told him to not wish and walk away? Knowing he would reject the advice. Even though he could have told him to just ask for things realistic or just told him the quote "push the universe to far, and it will push back". Even though he didn't want the persons wishes to go awry he still told him advice he knew wouldn't work.

Ok. That’s exactly what I was thinking.

Like… he knocked up the grandmas sister and then his mom killed her? Like I’m confused

I'd know those features anywhere; I'd sculpted half of them. I'd spent hours in the character generator, tweaking families and spinning up genetics. God, the hairstyles–I'd needed to learn library science just to keep track of all the the mods I'd downloaded. Small wonder the game took over five minutes to boot.

Which made the letter in my hand completely absurd. I wondered if Zach had somehow linked his neighborhood to mine. Would the sharing functions have allowed him to look in on my Sims? How the hell else could anyone have gotten into my savegame and ripped the profiles out?

It didn't matter, though: the money blew it all out of the water. Zach didn't have this kind of money. I didn't know anyone who knew anyone who knew anyone who had this kind of money to burn. It was like the exchange rate was $1000 : §1. And my Sims had plenty of Simoleons to toss around.

"To Anna," read the card, "from all of us. Thanks for all your love & care. Enjoy your gifts!"

The card said "gifts." Plural. Somehow that extra 's' filled my chest with dread, like a tide had washed in from some sideways place, like weight fell softly on me at right angles from everything. I stumbled my way back up the stairs to my room and began searching frantically. Something here was fucked, and I somehow couldn't think of what.

As I tore wildly around my room, I caught sight of myself in my desk mirror, and what I saw shook me–or what covered me, anyway.

My face was beautiful–far, far more beautiful than I'd been minutes ago. My hair cascaded elegantly down my shoulders, gathered with a ribbon at the back. My mole had been swept away, and my skin glowed. My eyes were bigger, my nose straighter, my lips antiseptically brighter. I was a Barbie Doll of myself. I didn't dare look down at my chest.

Instead, I looked over to my balcony door, and saw sitting on my chair a pair of comically large, gag-gift sunglasses. I sure as fuck didn't own any of those.

With shaky steps I tottered over to pick them up. I couldn't breathe right, My ribs ached, my head swam. I threw open the balcony door and looked out over the city.

It was a beautiful day, with a shining sun and a sweet breeze and people enjoying it everywhere. Children ran down the sidewalk, shouting to their hurrying parents. The basketball game in the park had gathered a cheering crowd. Even Old Jim on the corner seemed to be in good spirits as he held his "God Bless" sign up to passersby.

Slowly, as if in a dream, I raised the glasses to my eyes. And I beheld then the cheerful green plumbobs spinning above their heads, each and every one. I looked up and saw I had one of my own. And behind us all, hiding amidst the city's towers and below the afternoon sun, I made out a pyramid, bent slightly, and shifting sands swirling around it.

I tried to awaken, but I was trapped. I was locked here, now, knowing neither if I, nor they, nor my own creations were the Simmers or the Sims.

​

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Cool.

[removed]

But Bluey's attention was no longer on Mark, but seemed to have been taken by the Playstation.

"That's a Playstation."

Mark went to turn it on and picked up the controller. Bluey gasped softly as Mark maneuvered over the icons of games he'd played recently.

"Have you ever seen video games before?"

"Of course, ye empty-headed fart. I invented modern video games. Some arse wished for this years ago, but blimey. Ye've really taken me idea and run with it." Bluey reached out as if to touch the screen, and was met with hard plastic. He jumped a bit.

"Whats that one then?"

He was pointing to the call of duty icon. "It's about war." "War for fun? Yer kind are so perverse." "Well I mostly play it for the zombies." "ZOMBIES for fun? You people are ALL daft! Those things are a blight on the world. But funny, in the right circumstance."

Mark struggled to think of an example of when conjuring a real life zombie would be funny. He wasn't sure he wanted to know.

"Um, in this one you're a cat. In this one you're a goat. This one you can race cars."

He showed Bluey all his games then handed him a second controller. While they were speaking, Bluey had slowly and creakily directed his crotchety arse into the other blue beanbag to watch.

"Want to play?"

So they played racing games for a few hours. Bluey cackled with glee every time he raced ahead. He cursed and spat when he accidentally crashed his car. He oohd and ahhd and ridiculed some of the ways Mark had upgraded his vehicles. Bluey was weird, but Mark didn't have very many friends, and certainly hadn't played video games with anyone since before he'd moved out of his parents' house, years earlier.

"All right, well, I'll definitely be gettin one o these machines for me bottle." Bluey decided with a nod of his head and the unevenly approving squint of one bushybrowed eye towards the console, after hours had passed.

"It sure passes the time." Mark added, thinking of all the days and nights he'd buried himself in the games to escape the dread of his own life.

Bluey stretched and opened his mouth in a wide, straggle-toothed yawn. "Well thank you, my thick friend, for a touch of respite. But now, I do believe it's time to get down to business."

Bluey's angry conglomeration of vaguely European accent appeared to have evened out after hours of senseless racing. Now he seemed almost sad.

"Yer wishes, lad? And don't think ye'll be getting any special treatment for being feebleminded, or for the vidya games!" He cackled at himself again.

It would be pointless to correct him now. Mark sat silently for a moment, pondering. He'd made a long series of poor life choices which had led him to the rut he was in now. This evening with Bluey had been the longest time he'd been sober in months. He didn't actually trust his own decision making abilities. Not to mention the fact he had no idea what he wanted, besides not to live in gray emptiness of depression for the rest of his meager life. Rain began to beat on the window, rhythmically tapping out the seconds of silence stretching between them.

"What would you suggest, Bluey? What would you wish for?" Mark finally asked.

"A functional fucking brain for one!" He guffawed at his own joke, then, wiping tears from his eyes, took a serious tone. "No, yer the kindest dimwit I've ever met, to tell the truth. Praps people would be better off if they were all as dimwitted as you." He shook his head sadly. "Truth is, lad, nothing is free. A wish'll cost ye just as much as working for something will, the price just comes in a different form."

Bluey glanced towards the window.

"Most people just ask for what they want, the greedy bastards. Money, sex appeal. A lost love."

Bluey looked down at the plastic controller in his left hand and fiddled with the switches. Obviously there was something on his mind.

Softly, Mark prodded him.

"But you, Bluey? What do you wish for?"

He shrugged, and then he looked up at Mark, his eyes screwed up like he was trying not to cry.

"I can't wish for what I want. It's against the rules. Besides. I know what it would cost. I'm - it's - not worth that price."

Mark's heart broke for Bluey in that moment. What chain of events had led to Bluey being stuck in a bottle, a slave on demand for the rest of his life? What had he lost? What had he sacrificed?

The two sat in silence for a moment, Bluey sniffling in his beanbag chair and Mark reliving his own loss, his own choices.

Finally, Mark decided he'd had enough moping.

"All right, Bluey. I'm not a magical creature. I've got limits. But here's an offer. You've kept me company today, and for that I'm eternally grateful. So you get three wishes. Within reason, of course. I'll do everything I can to make them come true. And I'm a human. So, you know, it'll just cost money. Not your... soul. Or.. whatever." Mark lost momentum on the last remark, not really wanting to think about the prices Bluey had referred to.

Bluey was quiet.

"How bout another Dr. Pepper?"

Mark grinned and nodded.

"That I can do. You've got two more wishes."

Bluey laughed snottily and wiped his nose, a little sparkle returning to his eyes. He adjusted himself in the beanbag, thinking now.

"It's been a kick in the balls since I've had a nice homecooked meal."

The expression made Mark twitch, but he understood it to mean an agonizingly long moment.

"Well, I'm not much of a chef, but I can make that happen. And your last wish?"

"Ye know, I'd have killed in that bottle for some bhang."

"Bang? What?"

"Ye know. Chamba? Ganja?"

"Oh WEED? You want to smoke some weed?"

Bluey grinned and nodded energetically.

Mark couldn't help himself - he devolved into a fit of giggles that brought tears to his eyes. This ancient magical creature was asking him for pot. Maybe humans and genies weren't so different after all.

Bluey was laughing too.

"Aye, if that's what yer calling that good green herb these days!"

The two laughed together and then Mark stood confidently, feeling more full of purpose than he had in months. He pulled a shirt out of his closet and tossed it to the bare-chested Bluey.

"All right, Bluey. Get dressed. We're getting some groceries."

Mark sat shocked on the beanbag in the corner of his room, dusty blue bottle forgotten in one hand.

"Whoa."

Across from him, between Mark's unmade twin bed - piled with a mixture of clean and dirty clothes - and the bookshelf - stocked with more random doodads and odd finds than books - stood a bent, bare-chested, wizened old man in a blue kilt.

"Fer fucks sakes, ye ought to warn a fella before ye toss him all about!"

The old man gestured accusingly in Mark's direction, muttering about bad backs and ethereal arthritis.

"S-sorry, sir." Mark stammered, caught unawares by the presence of a literal magic being in his apartment, but also by the being's apparent crotchety-ness.

"I didn't mean to, uh, startle you, sir."

He hadn't thought there'd really be a genie in there! He tried to think of a way to make the creature feel more comfortable.

"D-do you want something to - to drink? Maybe?"

He scrambled to his feet and crouched down in front of a mini-fridge on the floor.

"Wayll, what shite have ye got, then?"

Mark inspected the sparse contents of his mini fridge: a frozen sprite can, an old stick of cheese, half a bottle of emergency bourbon, and a Dr. Pepper.

"Here." He handed the genie the Dr. Pepper.

The genie inspected it, his wildly bushy eyebrows arching up as he carefully inspected the slightly sticky plastic bottle.

"Oh peppers, eh? We don't mind a bit o spice, not tall!"

He struggled with the twist off lid, at first attempting to uncork it like a bottle of champagne, but Mark unscrewed it for him and handed it back. This genie seemed less like a magical creature and much more like Mark's Grandpa Larry.

"I don't taste any peppers."

This comment was immediately followed by another large swig off the bottle.

"Ech! It's terrible! Worse than my mother's cooking!"

He took another long swig and then it was all gone. The genie squinted at Mark with one suspicious eye for a long moment. Then he opened his mouth and let out a long extended belch that smelled like Dr. Pepper on the surface, but had undertones of flowery decay and a hint of cinnamon.

"Ah do like that. Whats yer name then, boy?" The genie tossed the empty bottle to the side.

Mark was still recovering from the stench of the burp, but the genie had turned away from him and was inspecting his room. There were drawings pinned up on the walls, some less recent and less proficient than others. A few posters of a few paintings scattered here and there. The knickknacks on the bookshelf. It was really an eclectic assortment of decoration, the only connecting factor for all of them being Mark himself. He wondered if the genie had opinions on interior design.

"Mark. My name's Mark." The genie grunted. "Wh- uh, what's your name?"

At this the genie turned and fixed him with the uneven eye squint again.

"You think I'm dumb as the fuckin bottle I've just come out of? Ye won't be getting my name so easily. At least fix a lad a roast lamb first!" This last private joke had the genie cackling to himself for a long minute.

"Well what about a nickname? What do people call you?" The longer the genie shuffled judgementally around his small room, the more curious Mark grew. Fuck the wishes. What had this ancient being seen over his lifetime? What must he know? He had to be filled with ideas and opinions and stories and knowledge, just like Grandpa Larry, but hopefully a little less sex crazed. Genie grunted again.

"If ye know me well, ye wouldn't call me at all!" Another peal of laughter. "Ahh, I do crack myself up, I do."

Then he fixed his gaze on Mark and stopped snooping around the room.

"People," this word came out sad and bitter, "just call me genie."

Mark waited expectantly. More eyebrow shenanigans from the old crotchety creature. He didn't say anything else, obviously expecting some kind of reaction from Mark that he wasn't getting.

"Isn't that kind of, like, racist?" Mark finally asked. "Like, I don't say 'Hey, Whitey' or 'Hey, Blackie' or-" Mark trailed off, not wanting to continue down this line of thought.

"Why not?"

"Um. Because that's, like, belittling someone to, like, from, like, from their personality down to just the color of their skin and like, that's like, leaves no room for individuality. It's, like, generalizing. Based on, like, pigment." Mark's cheeks blazed, embarrassed to be put on the spot of explaining racism to an ancient magical creature.

The genie's eyes softened a little in understanding. "Oh," he murmured softly, reaching out one craggy arm to pat Mark on the top of his head, "yer daft, aren't ye?"

Mark gaped. This creature thought he was mentally disabled.

"Well, ye've got the same rewles as everybody else, no matter if you're short a bit o change up there! But, I s'pose, you being a simpleton, ye could call me Bluey."

That still felt kind of racist to Mark. And he wasn't sure how to correct Bluey's interpretation of him as a-

"Simpleton?"

"Aye! You've got it. Well, de ye know what I'm here for, boy?"

"Right yeah wishes and stuff I guess, but actually -" Mark's correction was cut off.

"On the money, my halfwitted hero! Wishes. Now we all have wishes. I suspect yours might be a tad less complex than other lads -"

The genie went on a spiel about wish varieties, and Mark wondered if he would get the chance to stand up for his own mental capacity.

"So!" Bluey finally concluded, "what'll be the first?"

"Well, um, I actually had a question first?"

He was met with an expectant, impatient stare.

"How, like, how long have you been doing this?"

"Am not here to answer yer bloody questions! I'm here to do a job, and ad like to finish it so I can go back home to my little apartment in a bottle and watch the next episode of PeeWeeGenie. Those wee bastards are cruel."

"You have- wait, you have an apartment? You have TV?"

"Well what in fucks sakes de ye think I do for centuries at a time stuck in a blasted bottle? SLEEP?"

He gestured next to Mark's beanbag, to where his Playstation was hooked up to the TV.

"You're a dunce and you've a TV. Christ, the opinion of genies these days really has gone to shite. Mabel was right."

"Who's Mabel?"

"Would you quit your eavesdropping and get on with it? Make a wish! It doesn't take all day to screw a sheep!"

[deleted]

"I-I-I...Yes I would like that."

All at once, he found himself inside a silver apple orchard.

"I thought we could use a different scene. And some privacy," she said, shrugging as part of her reply.

He blinked back at the Queen. Pale silver, almost white hair, adorning silver eyes and alabaster skin.

"The color motif runs strong..."

"Well, my ancestors were kind of fixated, anyways..." she snapped her fingers, and two of the nearest apple trees extended their branches and curved them towards the queen and her guests, becoming seats.

She lightly smacked an apple tree next to her and opened her palm, and a silver apple dropped onto it. She held it towards him.

"Thank you," he said as he took a bite and his eyes widened at the sheer sweetness, crisp texture, and nectar-like juice blessing his mouth with their graces. Words cannot-

And it was already fully consumed.

"It was delicious, but I am still must know what happened to my world."

"Well, imagine your experiences today, but apply it to the rest of your world," the Queen told him, all radiant smiles.

"...what do you mean?"

"Well, after the giant battle which you lead and won, the peoples of Abyss decided to explore. First time of peace in history, and after some awkward mapping of the world, they moved on."

"Moved on?"

"Yes. They made the best of their peace, and since the battle one hundred years ago, not a single war nor demon plagued the land. People enjoyed and protected the peace they suffered and sacrificed for so long for."

Clear waters flowed from an unmoving face.

"I... am glad," he said as his lips slowly formed an upwards crescent.

Alabaster arms enveloped a black clad form.

"Your friends wanted you to be happy. To see at least some of their closest survive, and move forward. Alarus did, and died sixty years later surrounded by grandchildren. Julia did as well, her life's dream of being a spice merchant successful. She died twenty years ago, after sending her great-granddaughters to universities built in you and your friends honor."

Black clad form met gazes with silver.

"I cannot go back there. The pain.. I cannot bear."

"...Then how will you move on?"

"...May I stay?"

Silver warmly smiled.

///

The sun was glorious in this world. Golden rays lined a pale shade of blue for a sky, while fruit trees with exotic pink petals filled the lands beneath the heavens.

Splash!

Dirty boots met river

"Is this...water? So...pure..."

Indeed, it was clearer than some diamonds he held... Too bad the water behind his feet ran dirty.

"...Im sorry. I will move."

He continued his path, his all black cloak, shirt, and pants a stark contrast to the vibrant pink, crystal clear water, and flawless blue skies. His tattered cloak fluttered like a flag in the wind, his step squelching with riverbed mud.

As he finally walked around the Pink Forest (and gathering some berries from the branches), he laid his eyes upon the largest city he had ever seen.

Pale white marble, clearly magical with the faintly glowing golden runic script meticuluously carved upon them, contrasted a blue sky and pink lands. Everything was of this material, from the hundred meter wide and two hundred meter tall wall, to the various temples, towers, and palaces visible from his location.

Even from here, he could make out the location of the market using enchanted hearing. Most were selling items never heard of. Things such as 'indigo' 'tobacco' 'Tyrian Purple', and 'honey' were as foreign to him as permanent safe shelter.

The city seem to draw the beholder in, somehow appearing bigger the more he took it in. His nose could make out the smell of grilled lamb in the distance as he-

Armored forearms blocked his path. Ahh it appears he inadvertently walked towards it. Explains the two guards that approached him. One was redheaded and short.

"Hey there stranger. May we ask for your business with Argentum, our beautiful Silver City?" the taller guard's baritone voice called out.

He blinked his cerculean eyes at the guards. That-

"-is the most beautiful looking breastplate I had ever seen," he told the taller of the two.

Indeed, it was immaculate in its carvings, solid platinum depicting a dragon roaring with its rings outstretched, upon silver-esque armor.

"Ha! My colleague here would be wearing one too, if she didn't fail her promotion tests!"

The aforementioned colleague performed a strange hand sign he never seen before towards her superior.

"Hey I outrank you now. Anyways..." he looked looked back at him.

"So. What brings you to Argentum?"

"Nothing, I do not even know how I got into your nation. Or what continent I am on. Or if I am even on the same world from an hour ago."

PSST. Septimus!

?

Deceit detection shows nothing

"I see. So, where you from traveler?"

"Abyss."

"...the region you are from is called 'Abyss'?"

"Yes."

"What, did it have some giant gaping hole that spewed out soulless demons that ate people's faces?"

"Yes"

Poor sap...

Well. I will try to improve the mood.

"...whats next, the land was cursed for millenia and you, after winning an immensely costly victory, came here accidently while wandering in self exile?"

"Yes"

Wow, good job, 'sir'

Blinking chocolate irises met unfazed cerculean.

"Sir... do you mind meeting with our Queen?"

"Yes, but I will go."

///

Solid purple rolled out to greet his wet shoes and smelly self.

The Queen Regnant sat on her throne, a massive edifice of arcane Snowstone and glacier-ice blue Cryo-Sapphires. There were twelve steps, each flanked with a phoenix on her right and a lion her left, the phoenixes with wings outstretched, the lions mid-roar. Each Snowstone statue lifelike in detail, time and a half in size, eyes of Cryo-Sapphire. All leading up to the Everwinter Throne, the head of the seat reaching into the cieling like a column pressed against a wall. The heart of the throne, where the monarch sits, was made of solid Cryo-Sapphire, carved and telekinetically reshaped.

Her white haired and silver eyed gaze bored into what remained of his soul.

He honestly wished to die, hence he did not kneel and instead maintained eye contact.

The queen sat unmoving, straight backed and hands clasped upon her lap, before she closed her eyes and sighed.

"Do you know why I had you brought here?" she asked him.

"Tell me."

She made a hole in the world, and soon the hole showed a world...

His world.

A world of war and horror... a world of only suffering and false hope, a world that-

-is covered in farms and schools and playing children?

He teleported over to the gazing hole to confirm. Yes, unmistakable. It is. Somehow.

"My apologies, but can you give me some personal space?"

He was standing atop one of her throne's armrests. He teleported back to his prior location and did a quick bow.

"My apologies. You took me by surprise thats all,"

"It is fine. If you are ready, I can show you more."

Always glad to share new things!

I loved it! And I got to learn about a new (to me) troll!

I am curious about the fallout of this for Maja and everyone.

Welcome to the Prompt! All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.

Reminders:

>* No AI-generated reponses 🤖 >* Stories 100 words+. Poems 30+ but include "[Poem]" >* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail >* [RF] and [SP] for stricter titles >* Be civil in any feedback and follow the rules

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Thank you, love to be introduced to a different country's folk song.