An Eldritch Legacy: Sin & Sacrilege-Chapter 32: An Episode on The One Who Sees All...

Back then, my life was wonderful—not that it is any different now.

No, back then, my life was as mundane as it could get: sleep, wake up, have a good time, do the same, rinse and repeat, hang out, do something wild—or not. It was really just something... I want to say stable.

I may not have been the wealthiest, nor the happiest, or the best.

But at least I had a say in my life—nothing about maturing and becoming an adult, forced by the world to bend your knees and bow your head to circumstances.

That in itself was something I could call freedom. Even though... yeah, there were times when everything got so messed up that I thought, maybe today is the day everyone talks about. The moment when children stop being children. When responsibility becomes a burden you're either forced to bear—or it is shoved down your throat.

But it never reached that point. I saw my life through the lens I chose. I never really bothered about any of the sadder things in life, and it worked out for me.

But to reach where I am now, I realize that maybe all that was a form of mercy—or what one might call an early retirement to prepare for what was to come.

Here I am, no longer recognizable. A concept, an entity, a thought. Heck, I don't even know the proper words to describe myself.

I have no eyes, but my sight is truer than any other—before or after.

I have no voice, but I speak louder than creation. My words, which I see, are the truest reality you will ever know.

I have no ears, yet I hear it all—all the truths—a burden I both relish and abhor.

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I have never touched them, and yet they feel me more than anything.

I am nothing, and yet everything. I am powerless, and yet I might be more than I am.

I do not know.

I see all. I hear all. I touch all. I am everywhere. They do not know me, but I know them. They do not see me, but I see them. They do not hear me, but I hear them.

My voice records their lives from birth until they breathe their last. Such is the curse I bear—or is it mercy? I cannot tell, for I am spared from their horrifying fates. I see them wither only for others to bloom.

The paradox of existence is ever-spinning and never-fading, and all I can do is listen, see, observe, speak, and feel.

Listen to me. If you wish to live, listen to me as I tell you the secrets of the reality you think you have power over.

Hear my words, for they might just save you from the madness of the one I cannot see—even with all that I am.

He stands shrouded in a cloak of madness, woven from the broken minds of many. Unlimited in his gaze and torment, unlimited in his mercy and love—he is all that was never meant to make sense.

One cannot tell whether to hate him or love him, for he will drive you mad. I know this, for though he spared me, he chained me all the same.

Listen to my words, Little Pride, if you ever wish to play the game of the deranged.

I am the Observer—the one who sees all, who knows all, who has known and will know.

I am the Narrator—the voice behind all your ravings. You may ignore my wails, but they serve his purpose. For he loves and hates you all the same. Such is his way.

You bear the burden of his sin, yet you think it is yours. Oh, how I pity you, Pride.

Listen to me... for I will tell you all you will ever need to know.

—Voice of The Narrator

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Like a dream only allowed to me for fleeting moments before my task begins anew, I speak of the life I lived before I became the Voice, the Narrator, the Observer. The time when I believed I still bore a name beyond my role...but like dreams fade, I too had long forgotten the name I once wore with pride.

A heavy groan broke through perceived silence, heavy breaths accompanied by equally tired footsteps. The person wheezed and coughed as their body failed to resist the exhaustion creeping in.

I am so tired, they thought, but only running could delay their death.

Their eyes hung heavy with sleep, their body slowing under exhaustion. Their mind raced to force them awake, but things had reached a limit.

They did not know where they were, for all meaning had escaped their mind; it might as well have been nothing.

Looking at this point in my life, I wondered why I ran so. I was already done for the moment I was chosen. But like all mortals, life is the only thing they fight for so viciously, even when there is no hope. They know death will come, and yet, as a mortal, how death comes is the difference they crave.

Will I die wealthy? Will I die painlessly? Will I live to see my descendants' dreams fulfilled? Will I die with the love of my life in my arms? Will I die in the arms of a beauty?

Will the heavens take me in? I have not yet had my revenge. Who will show my enemies the errors of their wrongs if I die so early? I must leave behind a future for my children.

All these thoughts are constants in life that drive many. Of course, in my long journey as the Observer, I have seen many more variations. It is not always etched in stone how mortals think. But I believe the truth will always remain—that when death comes... it is useless to hold onto life. For death is a gift the gods gave mortals.

They may not know it, but to live endlessly is a burden all its own.

Looking back, I felt pity. Maybe I should have embraced death, but struggling for life was the best and worst thing I ever did.

"Hello, little Narrator..."

A voice broke the silence and the sleep that threatened. "Why do you struggle, when I can offer you more than anything your puny mind can imagine?"

If only I had heard the amusement in that voice... Maybe I would not have resisted so greatly

From that moment on, I became who I am—this, a concept, a thought, an entity. I became his eyes...

Though... I was never worthy enough to become his voice, for it broke me before I could even fulfill the role he crafted so lovingly for me