Hello, our dear observer
For now, refer to me as Eleanore Porter, or just Eleanore. I will be your friend so to speak
I'm both everywhere and nowhere, both extremely powerful and pathetically weak, both dead and alive; I'm the ultimate writer and the ultimate fiction... Both everything and nothing
What is ultimately important to me is that I'm here, with you. The fact that you know me - validates my existence as a fantasy; it means that my existence, in a sense, is truly here
What you will see here is merely a story. A fiction. A fantasy of sorts
Playwright, Actor, Character and Observer... Remember those words
Unfortunately for you, this story will not have a happy ending, and due to that fact, this story is a rather depressing thing - everything is going to the foregone conclusion
What you will see is the life of five unfortunate souls; all with their own tragedies, that ultimately shaped what they are today - something that is broken - cannot be unbroken after all, glue and cracks are still visible, and even on a fundamental level, the bonds are already broken and cannot be restored
And how the palette will ultimately mix and churn, with colours on it being no longer pristine if they're not handled properly and with care
But, such results can bring out the beauty, no? Even if such things can be seen as unnecessary - life goes on, and as long as the paint paints and the form and function is the same - it doesn't matter at the end of the day, for some, it does bring charm to them
In spite of all this, there will be moments of respite. Just like a fixed piece now needs to be handled with care and how you can't over-mix the paints - respite brings healing to people
It's ultimately an ebbing and flowing tale
A tale of both battle and peace, hope and despair, black and white...
I?
I stand in gray, which is both neither and all
Hopefully you will enjoy the tale I chose to tell
And now, let me ask you a question:
What is an ant to a human?
And
What will you see first, stars or the mud?