In the interrogation chamber, the wizard-faced man taps the table impatiently, you still haven't figured out his name or thought to ask for it. "What does that," he makes a frustrated gesture at you and the fleeting concept of your Words, "have to do with anything?"

Your smile is tight lipped and wry, "I'm setting the stage, naming the players."

"Can't you cut to the chase?"

"No, not really. This Story is-- well not shy per se?" You tilt your head because everything seems to make more sense at a forty-five degree angle. "It's not used to being looked at, let alone told, so it's having a rough time pulling on its socks and shoes and remembering where it left its car keys."

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"What does that even MEAN!?" The wizard man huffs.

"It means that the Story has a vague idea of what it should be and what it should look like but it's really just making things up as it goes along… y'know, like most people."

"So you're just making this all up?"

"No," You shake your head, "the Story I'm telling you has a set beginning and a set End, but all the middle-y bits are kind of floating loose so it's scrambling around for places to put everything."

"You say that like it's alive." He looks vaguely sick and generally concerned, like he's planning to book you a grippy sock vacation the second this is all over.

"Well… because it is, but it also isn't? You'll understand later, just let me get back to where we were."