Interlude III

Apologies, friend. I must once again interject. Another thing about real stories is that they have meaning. Not just the meaning found at the top, skating on the surface tension of the plot. Not even the deeper meanings placed like veins of iron beneath the crust of the planet. This meaning is your meaning, the message you make using the threads of the story, braiding and twisting and knotting using the firing neurons in your own head. This story is for you, specifically. For you to pick and choose the threads you need for your own tapestry of imagination.

I am often doubted, you know. I have heard it said that none of this happened, that it was all a dream or a game. That elves don't exist and magic is just misunderstood science. I can conclusively dismiss this. I was there. Not in these scenes, exactly. I wish I'd gotten there sooner, but I was held up.

I picked their brains, these curious creatures. And each one, whether they were elf or orc or human, truly existed. Their stories are true. They left their footprints on the world. They deserve to be remembered.