Mary crashed through the cathedral's large door. The roars and explosion immediately quieted as she found herself not in a familiar, slightly ruined building but in a perfectly white room.

It was empty.

She looked at her feet and saw that her shoes left no stains on the perfectly clean floor. Something was not right.

Mary turned around, trying to leave, but the door she came through was no longer there. There was just a wall.

Mary frowned. Something was off. More off than usual, that is. The room was clearly rectangular, and all of its angles were right...

But there were only three walls.

Mary's head started to ache. This wasn't how rectangles worked. She came to the first wall and traced a 1 on its surface with her bare hand. The shadows orbiting her finger dug an inch-deep scar into the whiteness. She moved on to the second wall and carved a 2. Then 3 on the third wall. But when she turned again, the wall she looked at was already marked with 1. She spun around. There was only one 1. Only one 2. And only one 3.

Three walls. Three digits. No space left for the fourth.

Mary shook her head. There was no time for this. Her friends were probably dying out there, and she was counting the walls? She looked at the slightly crushed muffin in her left hand. Somehow, she held on to it through all that. She was told to serve it here, but what did it mean, there-

“Hello, Mary.”

A tired voice coming from behind her made her jump. She rotated again, getting her fingers in position. Two puffy, brown leather chairs stood in the middle of the room. One was empty. The other was occupied by an overweight man in his late twenties, wearing dark jeans and a black t-shirt with a capybara picture and “I love capybaras” written around it in a yellow halo.

Mary knew immediately. She didn't know how, but she knew. More, she was a bit shocked - she didn't imagine Him like that.

“Come, take a seat.” He gestured to the other chair.

“I... I c-can't, I-”

He raised an eyebrow at her. She sat on the chair.

“I understand it is... confusing for you to meet like that. Well, how could you not be when I am so myself.”

“Y-you? Confused? But how...?”

The man sighed. “It's complicated. I'm not making this so on purpose, mind you. The Author is a being from another world, universe, dimension, multiverse... go as high as you wish, and it won't be high enough. And yet... I'm him. In a way. Just as in another way - not.”

He spread his arms wide and tried to smile with moderate success. Mary's jaw was hanging slack. Most theologians would kill to have the opportunity she was having now, and her head was empty. She had no idea what questions she wanted to ask, what boons she wanted to request, what-

“Before you go too far, let me just remind you that I'm just the Muchmighty. I cannot grant you what only the Almighty Himself can.” He sighed again. “Take your time, though.”

She'd never studied those subjects far enough. Back at the orphanage, she thought them only theoretical. She never even bothered to philosophize in all those “If you'd met the Famous Person, what would you ask them?” games, they were supposed to be useless! And still, there was one question she did want to ask. The only one she'd thought of, she was scared to ask and then feared the answer.

“Why?” She whispered. “Why all... this?”

The man sighed again but kept the tired smile on. “You know, we all ask this. Yet rarely do we ask - what else? Still, some think they know. I can't speak for them since I do not claim that enlightenment myself. Unfortunately, I'm afraid I can not simply tell you my thoughts.”

Mary's heart sank.

“But I can show you.”

Something changed. No, wait, that wasn't right. It was as if she finally saw what had been there from the start, like the pictures showing two different things depending on what you focus on. Only much more.

She felt a shadow deep inside Author's chest. A thin rift, wiggling like a fish slowly dragged out of the water.

“Don't stay too long,” he said so quietly it was almost a whisper.

Mary rose from her chair, reaching out to that close yet but so distant figure. She closed her eyes since they weren't really helpful in this situation, and plunged mind-first into the opening.

She saw a world of gold. People made of solid light walked shining streets and occupied pristine houses. Birds chirped joyfully at strangers passing by, and the humans waved them back in return. The sun was bright, but not burning, sharing its warmth with the Earth without putting it in danger. There were no illnesses, no hunger, no thirst...

It was beautiful.

Yet empty. Everyone was exactly the same since inequalities would cause envy. No one exchanged more words than those of greetings, as they had no problems that would need discussion. No one was prettier, more talented, nor even happier than anyone else, for the one worse would have been slighted, and no slight could exist in this place of gold. It was perfect. But then, it was not.

And it would stay so forever, no imperfection allowed and no failure unprevented. Because she was there, looking from nowhere with her all-seeing eyes, holding the power to change everything as she wished, yet knowing she would never have to use it because everything was already perfect and-

Mary recoiled, unable to stand it any longer.

But she didn't come out of the rift the Author opened - there was something more here to be seen. She saw past the first image and reached into the other. A darker one. She came closer, drawn to it by some unknown force, tempted by the mystery it promised. She felt a needle of pain as she approached, and another, and another...

She felt a twinge of fear and sickness, and...

There were people in this world too. Crying. Screaming. Laughing.

She saw everything, knew everything, but her mind just refused to process it. They were fighting, bullying, torturing, killing, and using each other to further their own goals, or just for the sick pleasure of seeing others lower than themselves.

Mary wanted to turn back, to run away, but some part of her she didn't really like convinced her to stay. To take one more look at the massacre, the pain, the suffering. Just one look to make sure she hadn't imagined it, that it wasn't a trick of the light, that her memory wasn't just toying with her. To understand.

She took a step further. Her brain was working at maximum power, screaming at her, at itself, at everything. There was pain, and there was fear, and she didn't know why, but she kept on going. Eventually, she started to shy away from the images and the sounds, and she no longer wanted to confirm nor remember anything, yet she couldn't just walk away mid-scene. She was curious. It felt so wrong, but it was there, so she had to know. The pain was growing, and she was getting desperate. She was disgusted, sad, tired... but also fascinated at the same time.

She didn't want it, she didn't want any of it, yet it was still drawing her in.

And she just couldn't stop.