...and then the sun went out.

...

What? The story is finished. What else were you expecting? After hundreds of pages and thousands of lines, there is no more to be told. There isn‘t, really.

Wait, do not take your feet off that footrest. No, stop, that bookcase doesn‘t have anything else. Stop shuffling around—no, not that book. Put it back to the green covered ones‘ place!

Ah. Alright. Sit down. Lay your back to the soft cushion. Open the book, look inside. How unfortunate, the yellowed pages are empty! I wonder why? You wonder too? Alas, I have no answer.

No, don‘t say otherwise. I don‘t know the answer. No matter how much you persist, I will answer the same.

...you are making things difficult. Just stay seated, don‘t stand up. Here, the fireplace is burning with tender crackling wood now. Also a blanket, to keep you warm. Exactly. Would you want a cup of hot honey-milk? No? A coffee, is it? Quite mature I must say.

Now, take a look at the book again. Not that rough, open the first few pages and look at the contents page.

See, it is barely written. No, it is no magic. I just have not thought about the next story. Making a story takes a lot of time. It isn‘t so simple as to imagine once and it comes all to you. Sometimes it does, most of the time it does not.

The other books you ask? They are all ideas. Green cover ones are, to be precise. Red cover ones are discarded, yellow cover ones that you have read are finished. Black covered ones are waiting to be found. No, I don‘t know why the colors are like that as well. Just they are there, like your coffee and blanket and couch and footrest which should not be here but still are.

Now look again. The first twenty pages are there...twenty-one, yes. I am working hard, you know?

Do not make fun of me. It is all for you to have read something, anything. Stop laughing. This is no joke. Do not make light of me, I am quite sentimental as you see. Look, I do cry. Look at my tears. They are all aquamarine, most pure, and my tear ducts are so fresh.

What do you mean they can‘t be fresh? They are. I said so.

Hm? The book, yeah. I understand you are curious about it, but reign it in. What if you repeated the same thing in it? I would have to scrap everything, then put another and then the sun went out, then voila! I would have no story to tell and you would have no book to read.

Why that phrase? It is quite strong, isn‘t it?

No, using it too many times does not lessen its impact. In reverse, I do believe it keeps you at your seat. Does it not? Was I wrong to see you bubbling about it, searching that line at every single page in that amalgamation of words and letters, all crowded about to make the world around?

Haah...you do you. I do not care. Alright. Open the book. Wait. Don‘t peek at the first page yet. Take a deep breath, relax your shoulders. Now let me take that coffee table a little away, we do not want you to have a little accident. Don‘t worry, I will give you your coffee when you want it. The blanket is heavy? No, you need it to keep warm. Let us add some logs to the fireplace and—

*********

You did it again, didn‘t you? I told you to wait a little.

No, I told you. I told you thrice, or the fourth time. You are...

Okay, I won‘t be angry. I promise. Now, can you tell the title for me? No, aloud. Louder, so that we can hear.

No? You can't? Alright...then keep reading. Let‘s see; the setting is alright...

You are in an inn in a desolate town, on the outskirts of the Faraway empire.(Do not mention my naming sense!) After spending the night in the rot-smelling room full of rats, you wake up to a grim morning cloaked in mist. Sunlight does not reach inside, even with the broken wooden window. The ground creaks beneath your feet, and fearing it breaking, you gather your belongings and get out.

The hallway leading downstairs is a long one. The building itself is old, most likely the manor of a late nobleman who was struck down in the fifties‘ uprising. You do recognize the broken and scratched patterns on the walls as the imitation of the Ancient Language. Their state is horrid, however, to make any sense of it.

How, you ask? You are an archeologist. A living historian as well, though an amateur one, trying to make it big. You have your expensive ink pots and raven-feather quills with you at all times, with research books and paper which are not easy to find around these parts. And tons of charcoal. You are here to research the uprising‘s effects on the region.

So you walk down the hallway and descend the round stairs to the first floor. There is not much sound as one would expect from an inn, with few patrons having their breakfast. Most have decent attire, unlike how the place might present itself to the outside, and so does the innkeeper standing beside the clean counter. Bottles of wine and barrels of ale and beer spread behind her, all gleaming under the chandelier‘s shimmering light. You have not talked to her much yesterday, so finding the chance you approach her for some questions—

...what do you mean you don‘t want to? Come on, it will be alright. It is easy. Just say hello, ask for a breakfast, and mention a few tiny little bits of what you want without explicitly stating it. Really, it will be okay!

...

I understand. No, do not feel guilty over it. This is alright. This is okay. It is in character to some extent, so do not worry about spoiling the story. Just..try a little stronger next time, promise?

Okay, I have your promise. Now, you go near her and find a menu open. She, although friendly-looking, does not seem interested in a conversation. You point at the illustration of a scrambled egg and tomatoes. There are also peppers on it(your favorite!) and if you wish a little yellow cheese to go on with it. An extra five coins you pay for the cheese, in total 35 for the meal, and take your seat at a far-away table looking outside the window.

Outside is chock full of mist. You can‘t see anything a few meters beyond you, with the stone pavement alone visible to your eyes. You let down your bag on your feet and take out a piece of charcoal and a yellowed paper.

Then you listen.

Cling, clang, whooshes. In the time you struggled to make a choice, it seems, more people found their way down. Now there are workers(You did not notice them, truly.) going around the tables and serving meals and drinks and desserts and pastries to those who want. People flock, dressed fine and dandy, with black-buttoned white shirts and slim gray suits, and ladies who have frilled dresses and umbrellas fold and laid on their knees. A chatter starts to rise, then it turns to a loud exchange where most people would find it unpleasant and leave or complain.

You, instead, focus your ears and listen. From a young age you had finer ears, able to hear what most could not, and learn what most would not. Though you attract a few gazes, most wondering if you are an artist of some sorts, you ignore them.

‘‘Mr. Wellington paid fifty banknotes for the deposit...‘‘

‘‘...yeah but it was no problem, the commander seemed a good fellow...‘‘

‘‘...he is a member of the Magnus Intellegentia. He is working for the established government...‘‘

In a few minutes, that is until one of the waitresses brings you your meal, you write, and write, and write, then the entire paper becomes unreadable from the incomprehensible bits of knowledge squeezed together. You put the charcoal into your bag, wrapped in a towel of course, and fold the paper and hide it in your pocket. Another handkerchief you use to wipe your hand and thank the waitress just as she puts down the silver plates on the table. You dig in.

The taste? Hm. How does tomatoes taste...it is juicy? But the meal itself is fried on a pan in an oven, with olive oil. There is a little excess oil used, so the eggs are oilier than usual. The tomato goes well with the green pepper, and since the cook did not use any paprika paste it isn‘t spicy. The cheese, huh. Hm...It is stretched out and golden in color. Seems like they have good cheese around here.

I mean, now that you made me narrate it, I‘m hungry as well. Are you? Oh, you want to eat the same thing? I suppose that can be done. Hmm, let me get them from the kitchen...

...

...

...

Done! Here. Let me lay this towel so the pan does not burn the table. Okay, slide the bread there. Oh, the coffee! Take it. Here. No, no, no, don‘t take off the blanket. You need to stay warm. Here, break the bread. A fork, too. I prefer a spoon for me.

Nom, nom, nom. It is good. You like it? I‘m glad. Put it between the bread and bite. It tastes better that way.

A little salty? No worries, it won't do you harm. Of course, believe me! Eat tons. Nom, nom...

Huh? You have a question? Of course, ask! Anything! About the story? Go on.

Uh...a desolate town. Yes, it is a desolate town, but it is an inn. It is bound to have many visitors. The inn‘s state?

No, I know. The estate is rundown...but the rats? Uh. I mean...no, uh yeah the guests are dressed fine but you are as well...how do you say it, um...

Okay! Okay! I get it! Stop talking with your mouth full. Now, since you are so impatient, of course I need to write fast. Do you really expect me to make a masterpiece on the first try?

Just make it readable...?

Sassy child. Alright then! You want a good story? I will give you a good story. I will give you a masterpiece! In fact, while you were waiting for the meal, I was writing!

Yes! Writing! While preparing food! You can be grateful to me!

Uh...no. Not this story. I know how this one goes, and it is...it won‘t be suitable for you right now. Because you need to speak, and you do not like to speak to strangers.

Don‘t look down like that. Raise your head, hey. Look at me. Yes, look at you. You have such pretty, Sun-like eyes. Don‘t let their light snuff out, alright? I know. I have written this story for you. You won‘t need to speak much, but you still need to say a few lines.

You will do it? Perfect! I‘m so proud of you. The other story, you say? We will visit it again. Don‘t worry. We still have some time.

You still have enough time.

Now, let me take that blanket off you for a moment. Stand up, stretch a little. I will take these back to the kitchen, so you move around. Don‘t approach the fireplace, embers are a little wild tonight.

...

...

I‘m back. You are tired? Alright. Just take that book on the left bookcase. Green cover, yes. Sit down, let me lay the blanket on you. What do you want to drink? Coffee again? How mature! Ah, this time with sugar? Alright.

Now, open the book. Take a look. Do you see the title? Read it aloud for me.

‘‘N-name of God?‘‘