another struggle is here at play.

For most often when we read, we imagine there is but one author at work. In this case, unfortunately—sorrowfully, tragically—that is not so. I thought once that it was, that I was the sole author of this adventure. This project is one I have worked for almost a lifetime, years spent mapping out a path that leads to a deeper sort of treasure—a map of maps that leads to the secret of life.

But dur. Poor fool am I. I have labored in blindness. I have not, in all these years, been working alone. An other lurks in these pages. A shadow ‘author’ who thinks they can step into my world and warp it into their own, who thinks their vision of my world is the true vision of the true world. Who erases and destroys, who reverses the signs, toes out instructions drawn in the dirt, remaps the stars and their hidden destinies—destinies I’ve tried to lead you to.

I fear there are less ways out of this maze. Perhaps none.

Do not trust anyone.

Henceforth, friendo, you must put on a mask: henceforth, in this tale, you are not You. Go now in disguise, hiding from the hidden other: you are, rather, the he and the she, the they and the we—the waves of the sea—the stranger in the window—the old woman in the street. You are not merely Reader, are no hapless wanderer going through doorway after doorway. You are fortune-teller and Captain, keyboardist and office worker, still and forever bickering about the cable bill.

Only in this way shall you remain alive for the battles yet to come: more tales, the hinted at murder mystery with a real-life murderboard, and the final indirect admission of guilt. Don’t worry–we’ll get them. Just stick with me, quietly, in shadows.

Otherwise you will be gone. Erased from the story.

Quickly now—I hear steps. The other is coming. Return to the beginning, find a person in which to hide, and another, and another, wander once more through these pages, seeking the way to the end.)