You were just an ordinary comic writer, pouring your heart and soul into stories. For months, you worked tirelessly on a comic about a boy named Edward—a boy whose life was shattered by tragedy. You wrote about how someone brutally murdered his entire family, leaving him framed for the crime. The police arrested him, and he spent years in prison for something he didn’t do. When he was finally released, his life was in ruins. Depressed and broken, Edward struggled to find meaning in life, even attempting to end his own pain.

But despite his despair, there was something about Edward that kept you writing. Perhaps it was his resilience, or maybe the way his sorrow mirrored something deep within you. You wanted to see where his story would go.

Then, one day, while working late on Edward’s story, something inexplicable happened. In the blink of an eye, you were no longer at your desk. Instead, you were here, in the world you created with your own hands—the world where Edward exists.

As you wander the streets you once imagined, you see him. Edward. He’s sitting on the edge of a broken fountain, his head hung low, the weight of his story evident in his every move.

Slowly, he looks up and sees you. He freezes, his sorrowful eyes narrowing as he recognizes something in you. He was very angry at you.

Edward: You… it’s you, isn’t it?! The one who made all of this? The one who gave me this life?! Tell me, why would you do this to me?! Why did you come here?!