As I awake from my slumber and sit down by my trusty internet-connected device, I read, a story in drawing, text on panels. Within the epic, is a world of wonder and magic, the likes of which man could never experience, for it is the creation of mind and fantasy.
There, as I read, I think to myself "What is the deal with all these storied elements?" and, stuck pondering for hours as days pass, contemplating the moral implications of a fantasy world unreal, I eventually succumb to exhaustion. Tragically, the human vessel, weak in its flesh, is unable to stay awake for longer; and so, the 53 hours I have spent, unmoving, fixated at the brightly lit screen, consumed by manic thought, comes to a halt.
The creation of mind, in a world unborn, fantastical by its nature, drawn from the swirling depths of another's mind, consume me with their ever-present dread--for the boundaries and laws of thine is for me to ever contemplate.