When the words I wrote began to come true, I thought I was a god.
The fish in the fish tank exploded because of my words, and the raindrops hovered for my description.
The Narrative Authority came to tell me that my writing was destroying reality.
And the female agent who was exactly the same as the heroine in my novel made a little move that only I knew when she left -
That was a unique habit set for her in the manuscript I burned seven years ago.
Now, the Authority wants me to join them in "maintaining narrative stability."
But the blood-red countdown that suddenly pops up on the screen is warning:
[Be careful, they are the real narrative destroyers]
