"My great story..." Swaying gently in the dim light, the spider clutched the tiny scrap of paper in its delicate legs. The parchment was frayed at the edges, a bit old-looking but still in shape. Below, a soft breeze rustled through the cavernous space, stirring the dust that had long settled in the corners of its home. The spider, unbothered by the movement, twisted slightly in its web, angling the paper a little more to the light so that it could read it better.

"I don't understand what the issue is!" The spider's voice echoed through the cave, startling a nearby moth. "Is there a reason no one seems to be reading them? Could it be the pacing, or something else entirely?!”

The moth, wisely keeping its distance far enough away from the web, fluttered closer. "Maybe," it ventured carefully while still making sure it didn't touch the silky web, "you could ask for feedback?”

"No, no, no!" The spider's legs trembled, causing the web to vibrate. "That would mean admitting there might be something wrong with my writing! No way I'm doing that, not ever!”

A little bothered by the sudden darkness that had begun to fill the cave, the spider tilted its body again, adjusting the angle of its web so that the paper caught more light. The ink had bled slightly, as if it had been exposed to damp air for too long, but the words were still legible and very much readable. However, no matter how hard it looked, it didn't know why its masterpiece was not being fought over by the mortal men and women.

Surely, if they had even read one of its stories, they would have loved it and would have continued to do so with all the others. Yes, perhaps that was it, after all, there is no way it could have possibly messed up.

“I think it's about time I see who I'm losing to!!” The spider carefully set the scrap of paper down onto its web, securing it with a few thin strands of silk. With one last glance at its treasured words, it scuttled to the edge of the web and peered down into the darkness below.

The cavern stretched far and wide, its walls lined with the forgotten and discarded books of those who had once dwelled above. Some would call it trash, yes, but to Larry, these were his personal treasures that he kept tightly to himself. 

Books, scrolls, and crumbling parchments lay in haphazard piles, some half-buried beneath piles of garbage in one corner, while others lay carefully stacked on top of each other. Larry had always assumed these were the works of lesser writers, unworthy of attention. But now, doubt crept into its many-legged frame. The idea that one of its books might end up like this was one that he couldn't bear to even think about. The thought itself only made him shiver, from a chill that didn't really exist in its pocket dimension.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

As he descended through the layers of his web network, Larry's eyes caught an unusual glint among the scattered papers. The object stood out starkly against the mountainous piles of books in his collection, its surface catching what little light filtered through the cavern.

The moth, after noticing that Larry had moved from its position, made sure to move itself, scurrying to a dark corner in the cavern while trying to make itself as small and unnoticeable as possible as it blended into its surroundings. Nevertheless, it kept eyeing the spider, which was now holding what appeared to be a human-made piece of machinery while examining it with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion.

"Now, what do we have here?" Larry muttered, approaching the strange item, though making sure to be careful while doing so. "Perhaps this is what those mortals are using instead of proper books these days?”

The contraption looked very heavy for its size, all cold metal and strange symbols etched along its surface. Larry turned it over with his delicate legs, the gears clicking softly in its head as it grabbed one of the symbols on the board of the object, while more symbols began to appear on the glowing surface of the thing. "What is this?" the spider muttered, tapping another one of the buttons with the tip of a leg. A faint hum echoed through the cavern, one of the hanging pieces of the contraption flickering to life, its tiny screen illuminating the darkness within the cavern.

The moth, however, stopped looking after its instincts had told it that Larry wouldn't be much of a problem. After all, it neither had the time nor the comprehension skills to understand what the spider was doing, so focusing inward on itself, it pulled at the mana in the air, fueling the tiny, iridescent scales on its wings with a faint glow, enhancing its camouflage and preparing a defensive dust from its antenna that shimmered with latent magic.

It wouldn't be the first time Larry tried to get touchy with her, and she wasn't trying to get eaten by the spider who would certainly be hungry after centuries of not having eaten anything.

Larry's many eyes glimmered with fascination as the device whirred softly in its legs. It tapped the glowing screen again, watching as strange shapes and symbols shifted before it. The contraption, though utterly foreign, seemed to be responding to it's touch. Could this be the secret to the success of modern mortal writers?

"How peculiar," it mused, turning the object over. "It lacks the charm of ink and parchment, yet it holds words within it.”

From her dark corner, the moth twitched an antenna, observing the spider’s engrossed state. "Be careful with that thing, Larry," she warned, her voice barely coming out as a whisper. "It might not be as harmless as it looks." Larry could only scoff at that, weaving a few silken strands to prop the device at a better angle. "Nonsense! If mortals can use it, surely I, a creature of unparalleled intellect, can master it.”

Its leg hovered over another key before pressing it down with a decisive click. The screen flared to life with a hum. The sudden noise startled him, and for an instant, the space around him flickered, collapsing inward into itself as the temporal hold of the dimension shattered, random moments in reality bleeding into themselves simultaneously, as everything stilled, bent, and reversed around each other. 

A spatial singularity began to take place, the walls and every other object in the room lifting upward to join that singular spot in reality. Just as quickly, reality snapped back into place as he regained his composure.

The chaotic energy emanating from its body slowly ebbed away as the distortion in reality settled back into place. Larry, it's legs still twitching with the aftershock of the distortion, blinked rapidly as his many eyes recalibrated. The strange device before him had gone dark, its faint hum silenced, and the screen now showed nothing but static.

He almost thought he heard an 'I told you so' from the moth, but the creature itself didn't actually dare to speak those words.

“I love and hate humans sometimes.”

And so, he continued his attempts to understand the weird device.

The end.