The Dearest Story

In the history of man, stories about them have always been the best part. No man was brave on the battlefield. No man is right in war. But when telling the story that they turn everything into a perspective of right and wrong and of the brave and the coward. 

Stories define humanity in a way. Every step of the world. It is defined by the stories written. Every right or wrong is reflected by the stories we hear. We decide who is righteous and who is unkind all on the same tale of words.

To those who love stories, words are fascinating creatures. They build then break then fix a person. Pulling at their strings, twisting then sewing them up. Today, we will talk about those who love a story. To the readers.

Today, to a reader.

Histoire floats through New York. Taylor Swift running wildly in her ears. She got rejected for the seventh time. A writer in the making. The black haired girl sipped on her coffee. It really was a tragedy in the making, dreams that is. 

You try till you break and fall apart. You break and then maybe you try again. Life's a circle. You come back to where you were. You wish you did not. But in the end you end up weak and powerless. The same as where you were at the beginning of the story.

But right now it is about one reader.

Histoire really was upset. Giving up seemed so less tiring than trying again. Again. Again. Again. You try till there is nothing left in you to try. But it was fine. Histoire would be fine. Histoire has to be fine. She was a [redacted]. A very powerful [redacted] too. 

This story needs this reduction to make the story a bit interesting. Every story needs that you know. That spark. It could be the fiery romance or the sparkling rivalry. The thrilling action. Or the sultry sex.

Just sparkles.

Sparking and sparking and sparking till the whole story was on fire. The moment the story started to catch fire was when your heart started to beat with a vigor of finding another precious thing to your growing booklist. 

Reading was a glorious thing. It made you want to live. Maybe for the final chapter. Maybe for the fanart. Maybe for the ships. These shallow things made life worth living.

Writing made you the God of the world you had started to write. You decided who lived, who died, who moved and who was paralyzed by fear. A pen and you. A laptop and you. A story and you.

To write was a momentary pleasure and an existential crisis. You question. So much so, you wonder. You wonder who you were before writing. And who you will be after.

Would the characters learn lessons you never learned? Or would they commit atrocities your hands could never touch.

Histoire was lost in such thoughts. She had no idea what it all meant. Humans had it rough. Emotions were tough. The worst things about humans. But Histoire knew that the stories were only possible because humans experienced these emotions. So they were somehow a painful reminder of why Histoire could never be a writer. That was sad, but Histoire went to another cafe and got a latte. Sadness versus caffeine. The caffeine won.

She reached for her pocket to pay for the cafe latte and that little strawberry tart she had ordered. Looking around for a seat. She finally found one in the corner beside the window. A fan favourite really.

She opened her phone. And swiped through social media. Then she opened the web and started reading her favourite story. The one story she was human for. The one story she loved to death was the story that a meagre human had written.

It made her want to be a writer. It was the whole reason. The whole reason for Histoire. 

That story was Histoire's first love. Love that she did not want to share. She did not know why. It was love at first sight. Or first word in this case.

She even followed the author.

The main account of the author only had three accounts following on every social media. Other than her. Histoire bought every chapter as soon as it was out. She felt like it was a secret between her, the author and the other three who had somehow found the story before her.

She loved the author's writing style. The characters. The plot was simple. She loved the story. She loved everything related to that story.

The story had four protagonists.

Era.

Nequam.

Niko

Lae.

All of them were born magicless in a world full of magic. One of them was a slave; the other three lived in a secluded state of lowly commoners. One day the slave meets these three. And they start a rebellion. 

It has around one-twenty chapters. And the same three people always reading and commenting. 

She knew the other two's usernames.

'prince_kle' and 'prinkless' were very stupid names but that did not matter. Not at all.

The name of the story was 'Record of Arrogance.'

Even the name sounded like heaven's bells to the madly in love Histoire. She broke down into a fit of giggles before realizing she had a reputation to keep and that she was in public. 

She put her phone down.

Slowly, she took a sip of her coffee. It was very sweet. She liked it that way. A way to feel something.

The girl bit into the tart, which was just as good as the super sweet coffee. 

She then saw a notification pop up. It was for 'Record of Arrogance'. It was probably a new chapter. Histoire smiled. There was nothing happier happening than a new chapter.

She quickly bit into the tart in hopes of finishing it and going home. She wanted to read in the peace of her house. Taking in deep breaths. She excitedly sipped the coffee. No taste really registering other than the sweet sweet story's taste. 

She quickly walked away to the outside of the cafe. The only emotion between her and this world was a chapter of a story.

But to Histoire, that story was the whole world.

She ran and ran, excited to read another chapter. Excited to see what the author wrote, how they wrote. Maybe even those author notes. Oh how she loved the author notes. My dear reader this, my dear reader that. 

Just thinking about all this, Histoire stopped running. Damn relaxation, she needed the chapter. Right now.

Opening her phone, she touched the notification for the update. Her heart was beating loudly. Maybe a chapter was all that was needed to change the whole moody feeling.

She sighed, it was an author note. 

As she started reading the note, her expression changed from the happiness she felt to the first time her heart got broken.

My Dear Reader,

I won't be continuing this story.