The Worldsmith
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Hello and welcome… greetings to you, fair traveler…. salutations, adventurer of a distant land… no… no… that isn't right. Perhaps I'm going about this wrong…

My name is The Worldsmith. I need no further introduction, for no further introductions are there to give.

My world met its end a long time ago. I can remember not why nor how, I remember only that it is gone. That there was something more, once. A home I have lost. A place to call my own.

I suppose I could call here my own. But it doesn't feel the same.

What am I doing here, you ask? I do not quite know.

My world is quite beautiful, although it is quite desolate. Nothing in here but me and the soft green glow of the crystals.

The crystals are quite magnificent things. I don't understand how they work, not quite. But I feel like I knew, once. My understanding has slipped out of my grasp, and with it they've lost an understanding of themselves. The world makes no sense, not anymore. Perhaps it never truly did.

The crystals tell me stories. I don't know how they know these stories, but they are quite imaginative little things. The walls echo with the reverberating voices of a thousand storytellers.

There seemed nothing better to do than record them, to do something with them. When I picked one up, and began to formulate a plan for how I might do so, things started to make sense, just a bit more. It felt as though I'd regained something lost.

So I refined them. Into perfect little spheres. And I allowed them to tell their stories to themselves. To generate a singularity… to become a world. A world full of wondrous stories. Many wondrous worlds, talking to one another, forming a narrative…

Will I ever be my whole self again? I do not know.

Does it really matter?

The stories are being told again. This seems to be the only true thing that is important.

If there were no one to listen to the stories, then who would they tell themselves to?

The stories need to be told. It doesn't matter who tells them.

It's very important that things continue like this.

So I toil, rambling endlessly, raving each day, and refining the crystals into the perfect little spheres they can become. I observe them, and take great pride in my work.

My name is The Worldsmith, and I need no further introductions, for no further introductions are there to give. Here, there is only me and the crystal.

My world met its end a long time ago.

There was something more, once.

A home I have lost.

Will I ever be my whole self again?

As long as the stories are told, I don't think it matters.

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