Origin of The End

Volume I - Side Story - Of Fools and Madness (I)

"Oh no; it's not about the 'who' or the 'what'. It's about the 'how'~ The 'why' and the 'what ifs'~! Or maybe not~ After all, I did do the opposite, didn't I~? Painted the canvas with the opposite colors~" THEY twirled, pirouetting on the invisible stage — hand gesturing toward the smoke that coiled and writhed at THEIR side. "Take the girl, for example," a figure appeared from within the swirling mass, eyes slightly hollow and sunken as she reached for a fedora. She looked lost. Adrift. Pliable. Like a ship with a broken rudder, the individual in question stumbled before she stared into a cracked mirror, movements jerky as if fighting off waves of exhaustion. "Took a little, tiny, teensy bit of an effort, mind you~ Nothing more than hues of confusion and splashes of doubt; a push, a flick, and YET! Behold~ A masterstroke~! She didn't even see the sign! A cheater bound by her own folly~! Ahahahahahaha~!"

And what a delightful symphony it had been; the crescendo of her downfall, orchestrated with such finesse, every note a perfect strike of madness.

Indeed... messing with her head had proved to be... predictably easy. The girl had been certain — so assured in her ability she never even suspected the strings pulling at her every move. Each feeble attempt to regain control only tightened the noose; the more she struggled, the deeper she sank, ensnared by the very shadows she tried to outrun...

... foolish, naive little pawn.

Manipulating her had been, in essence, a rather simple game of make-believe. What started as a mere seed of doubt, germinated into a forest of delusion and paranoia. It required no grand gestures, no overt actions — only the subtle art of suggestion, the gentle nudge toward the abyss.

Take her attempt with the empty, little doll, for instance...

Not only did her efforts fall flat, they backfired quite spectacularly. What should've been a convincing argument to a fairy fell into disarray — causing nothing but problems and fostering both suspicion and mistrust. Again and again, the girl tried to mend the rift. And when that didn't work? She attempted to bulldoze through the problem, resorting to empty threats and turning a potential tool into an adversary. All because of misplaced confidence, gross miscalculations that disrupted her finely-crafted steps — things that could've been averted had she just been a bit less... reliant on her power.

A whisper here, a fleeting glimpse there... bending her perception just enough to alter her understanding when it came to certain matters. Ensuring that she heard the wrong thing at the right time; feeding her carefully curated half-truths and conflicting information. And when these approaches began to produce a less-than-satisfactory result? Then THEY switched to another avenue.

After all, the girl herself might not be as susceptible to THEIR influence, but the instruments with which she did her task?

All too easy to manipulate...

In the end, the doubt took root, and like a creeping vine would an abandoned house, it grew — twisting and turning into a labyrinth of her own making, where every shadow whispered lies and every light was but a mirage.

It was almost disappointing, really.

Such a dull existence.

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