It isn't your fault, dear reader. These Monsters, Humans, poor souls, they didn't die because of you. They died because of your desires. Your need for content and story. Your need for more after the End. So, really, who is the real evil? Is it you? You who have fulfilled your sick desires for more, even after you know the story. Or them? Those monsters and humans who are forced to play along, dancing to invisible strings pulled by myself. Am I the true evil at play?

Which one of us is the lesser of these evils?

Me, The Writer, desperate to please those who plead desperately like dehydrated men in the desert?

You, The Reader, who begs incessantly for more, and more, even after you know the Endings.

Or Them, the Puppets, pulled by my strings and dancing to my tune, lifeless and empty, no longer human or monster, but a mere presence for me to manipulate? They are long dead. How can you blame the Dead?

How can you blame me?

After all, my name is Wing Ding Gaster, and I created this world. It seems only fair that I destroy it.

You, my dear Readers, are simply a ruse. A means for me to execute my plans without feeling guilty. You asked for this.

Be careful what you wish for...

For this is the halfway mark, and this is where things start to get...

Interesting.