you open the book that’s been sitting on your bookshelf for ages. an impulse buy- beckoned by vibrant cover art and the mysterious book summary, imbued with allure and promises of a good read. practically begging you to find out what’ll happen.  

a vortex opens and you are sucked into the fantasy world. you waste no time familiarising yourself with its past and present, its quirks and intricacies. how it came to exist, how it came to be- things so deeply entrenched in this world’s lore. 

what about our world? would someone from another world be as entranced by ours just as much as you are with theirs? surreal and ineffable, each world you explore is more peculiar than the last, a welcome distraction from the seeming mundanity of daily life. 

in our world- wrought with climate change, an invisible timer looming over humanity’s survival; wracked with wars wreaking havoc, dividing people apart; hundreds of millions suffering daily at the hands of a mere powerful few.  

for us- our lore is eldritch, not ethereal. pitifully ineffable, not whimsically charming in its twisted complexity. 

compared to the other worlds someone could explore? how could it ever compare?  

you wouldn’t like this world either. 

resigned, you reopen the book, now heavier in your hand. 

the vortex sucks you in again. you go willingly. it’s a welcome reprieve from the hand you were dealt, after all.