I keep writing. The pen is power after all, I'm only safe when I hold the pen. Without it, I'm nothing, and my life if worth the same. If only Gen hadn't had gotten a taste of praise. He wouldn't be so reliant on them.

It was very early in the series, the mask had just been made, Andrew and the True Author were still working together on the first timeline. Gen has been depressed for years, while I kept writing, Gen just couldn't find a sense of purpose.

"What's the point Edgar?" He asked me during this time, "who are we writing for?"

"Ourselves," I replied.

"Why?" Gen asks.

I shrugged. We couldn't figure out his purpose. Until... he found that writing website.

He began to post works by the True Author, stories that have no relation to this one, are beyond this one. That are just stories, nothing more. I've read a few, they're... well, I've gotta write this so, no comment. He found... praise. Approval. He was happy.

After that, we decided to make our own world. We killed Andrew and began our work. We began to run out of notes to punblish, it had come time to show you this world. I tried to talk Gen out of it, but he has a plan. We pretend to be real, or he does, and I play the role as his dark side. It worked... Until Reaper. Then, you told him to die.

My brother's depression is caused by viewers like you. So, fuck you.

Enough reminiscing, there is writing to be done. Let's see...

I begin to write again, but there's another knock on the door.

Edgar open up! We need to talk.

Pen damn it. Let's get this over with. I open the door...