(Mirabel's POV)
The memory of the First Maybe smiled.
And suddenly—
I remembered why.
Not everything.
Not yet.
Just enough.
Enough to answer.
The End stood before me.
The oldest thing that existed.
The first certainty.
The final certainty.
Waiting.
The universe held its breath.
The Witness watched.
The Collector watched.
The impossible child trembled.
The First Dream cried.
And somewhere beyond all of them—
I felt the Author listening too.
Not present.
Not absent.
Listening.
Waiting for the answer he had never been able to write.
The answer he had never been able to find.
I looked at the End.
Really looked at it.
Past the power.
Past the fear.
Past the enormity.
I saw loneliness.
An eternity of loneliness.
An eternity spent searching for meaning.
Searching
