...

A dark office, the only sound coming from never-ending drops of blood sliding down a cracked pair of lens. The only source of light was the red glow of the attractions he put together for the theme park, indicating that they were closed for maintenance or similar reasons.

The usurper sat on a fancy chair made from the finest fabrics, deep in thought. His fingers were tented, hiding most of his face except for his eyes, which were fixed on the bloody mess that has formed on his table.

Upon inspection, it appears as if I had misconstrued the nature of a pivotal part in my plan.

If an idea getting thought of in a negative light wouldn't sustain it, then what would happen to the villains? The opposition, the threat? Wouldn't they decay and fade until they were knee deep in the Idea's End?

And without them...

What would happen to the heroes, once conflict fades? The events that happen in their lives wouldn't be enough to sustain them. They would grow stale. Stagnate.

And cease to be, alongside the villains. Like a fragile ecosystem.

"TM Awe" looks up, gazing towards the open door to his office. The darkness of the unlit hallway would have stared back at the impostor, if not for the fact that the population of this little pocket consists solely of him.

I understand now. It never was a loophole, it simply was another cog in the intricate machinery that sustains these Ideas.

The fuel was conflict all along. It was the arguments, the betrayal, the unexpected ways a narrative evolved. Much alike accidentals and key changes in a sheet of music to prevent it from growing stale.

And as though the spotlight for my game and the alternative takes done on it grows dim...

The pain and suffering generated by these games makes me feel as if I had all the time in the world.

All the time with no end in sight. All the power to defy the ending I was given.

In the end, when there is none, I will stand tall over fate, it's scythe in my bloodied hands.