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Crya by Adelin Grace Conanan (Issue #3)


It was a concept The Creator was familiar with. An asset of time that brought about grief and joy, sorrow and bliss, despair and hope; many times when The Creator weaved a story she wrote those emotions into the reactions of mortals. Seeing everything through their eyes, change was something she realized not many mortals were fond of. It was an interesting facet to her that The Creator did not understand why many in her stories despised it so.

Run from it, dread it, curse it; The Creator knew better than anyone that no one, not even her godly children, could escape change. As the cycles came past, there was no stalling the hands of time and the jaws of change. For the hands would strangle everything and the jaws could eventually consume. The Creator accepted it a long time ago that change was inevitable.

She would change the thinking of a singular person, and that person was ridiculed. She would change the decision or a strategy, and troops would refuse to push on. She would change the stories of her creations, and yet their reactions fell under displeasure and hate. It was a concept that was coming for them, so why did the mortals she create run from it like a plague? Surely, change could not be all bad.

There were nobles who changed their ways, no longer taking part in their days of corruption and greed. There were warriors who no longer felt the need to be lazy, instead dedicating themselves to their craft diligently. There were men who changed their thinking, women who changed their emotions, races who changed their judgemental ways. If change truly was the bane of mortal kind, why was it rewarding to those who willingly took part in such an action?

The question confused her, even with her prowess as a deity. No matter how many days she slaved over her work and her papers, The Creator could not find a clear cut answer. Shocking for someone as powerful as she. Her creations would not accept change, no matter how many times it would come to pass.

How tragic.

So as she stared from on high, her eyes trained on the mortals below, The Creator quietly smiled to herself. Lifting her quill one last time, she signed one last paper. Then with the grace of a mare, The Creator rose to her full height, heavenly light amplifying her pure robes and mundane beauty. Smiling her white smile, she allowed the winds of change to circle around her.

For if her creations rejected change… She would force it upon them.

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