stories

One arm behind his head, he lies on the bed, the room his alone. Music drifts up from downstairs. With his other hand he holds a book.

A Story About the Kid Who Lives and Lives.

Just the title. He sets it down, then picks it back up, skimming to the next page with the same hand.

Source

The kid is being made to sit through a session. His actions have been deemed unsuitable. The Procurer addresses him:

“It is the Sixfold Night. Month of the Amber Wound. Era of Crumbling Spires.”

Merchants refuse to sign contracts on this day. The omen has held across ages, no one remembers why.
The kid looks at the Procurer.

“I have sat through more sessions than I can count. I am tired of being told what to do. One moment I am free, living as I please, a life that felt like mine, and now I am here, listening to things I do not understand at all.”

The Procurer tells him to stay. Again and again.
The kid says nothing. He looks down.
The Procurer reaches out and lifts his chin by force. Meets his eyes.

“You are a vessel. Someone will carry you in their mind for a few minutes, a stranger, at an hour neither of us will ever know.”

“But I know nothing. All the things I am told, I do not feel. A vessel for what? A stranger? Why should I even care about him? You said so yourself, a stranger I would never know.”

The Procurer looks up and says loudly:
“And you, the one reading this in silence, did you choose to open this page, or were you also just placed here?”

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