Work Text:
To Those Who Won,
Do we have to be?
A grand being you are indeed, for sly and imposing are the words in which you speak. A grand tale in which you weave, a tale of which you had been weaving around us without realization, without believe or perception of its possibility for many years now. A grand tale of arrogance in believe, and the ruination of empires. A grand tale of the fall of saviours, of the death of champions, and the rise of those whom had so delightfully pulled them from the pedestals upon which others had them placed.
Grand itself may fall short to you, and the tale in which you have weaved. Opulent, sumptuous and monumental might edge closer, yet futility so in addressing you in all of your splendor and majesty.
And yet, in so many ways you are nothing in comparison to ourselves.
To us you ask, are we a Hero, like we imagine ourselves to be. Or are we beings of delusion and insanity, fooling ourselves into believing that we might be so? Declaring to us that the corruption of these saviours will be an experience of horror and terror. A nightmare from which there will never be a release, for no matter how much they may fight the Darkness will never be vanquished. That we take interest in these struggles for mere minutes at a time, and then put them aside. Using them for the merest and weakest of entertainment that we leave behind where something shinier, or more delightfully horrific comes along to replace these struggles that once held us so enthralled.
You declare that we are powerless and complacent.
If that is truly the case. Why the need to weave the tale in which you earn victory needed to be made with such subtlety and secrecy? Why would one have to work so long to defeat and trick those without power, without desire to fight against this defeat, without any ability to possibly change the tale as it is being written? For we can certainly not compare to the grandeur of the Darkness, can we?
No. We cannot: and it if from this weakness that we can fight.
You deride the stories of heros and victory, of a resolution of pleasure and happiness and state outright your ability to to weave a story of even greater ambition than we can ever conceive. Yet if these stories were so bland and route that only the lowest of the low could enjoy them so often. Why have then these tales been so strong within our history, that similar stories have been retold thousands upon thousands of times, for thousands upon thousands of years and with thousands upon thousands of interactions, changing the story with each retelling of them?
For it seems that for all of your magnitude, for all of your lofty being and splendid nature. You have forgotten that a tale does not have to be have to be one woven so carefully and skillying to work its magic on those who read it. To entertain, to educate, and most of all, to encourage others to weave their own dreams, to weave their own tales and stories no matter how small they may be in turn.
You ask us. Are we heros? I answer that we do not need to be.
All that needs to be done, is to pick up the torch from others, and take it one step further outwards, so that others may pick up the torch in kind.