EpilogueMature

Birth, life, death, rebirth. It's continuous. Death is not finite, it is not absolute. I am unliving proof of that. For a long time, I wondered how best to put what the Sorceror was into words, and I suppose, he is God. He created your world, he absorbs the souls of people in it. He juggles fates, he toys with emotions, he writes stories with you and me and everyone we know as characters. But isn't God good? Doesn't every holy book teach mercy? Don't they teach redemption?

I am not sure how to make you understand. The Sorceror was approached by the Sorceror that came before him, the same way that I was. There is no one true God; there is only the Sorceror. A non-entity. A blip. A string of frightened, unhappy people, who have nothing left and nobody to turn to.

I am the Sorceror. Am I evil? Was I wrong? I don't know. I will never know. That frightened boy emerging from his coma, surrounded by crisp, hospital whiteness; was he evil? That man who gave everything up, just like I did. That man who made me his, who sheltered me, who took me from Jane before I could hurt her any more than I already had done.

Becoming the Sorceror was not the mistake that I wanted to tell you about; my mistake was Jane. My mistake was love. All consuming love. It took my death to right that wrong.

I gave my soul away - I did. I'm sure you will tell me it was wrong to do this; our souls are God's, aren't they?

Then why do we say they're ours?

The End

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