It is no theater. [ She says, but she doesn't sound offended. It's a common-enough complaint, for someone like Akua, whose entire being thrums with the very heart of the story, of every beat and every pinprick that could be a villain's tale, from the first moment they crystalize power into being, the moment they utter one too many words in their speech. Her hands rest back in front of her, and she looked up at the ornate ceiling, for just a moment, considering. ]

When you think of history, of what was once someone's life, do you notice a pattern? To the way a betrayal works out time, after time, after time, as if there's a cycle to it all? A man who is poor, but becomes wealthy, who promises that he will one day bring money back for his old companions becomes greedy, only collects more money, and never gives a penny to the rest. Or perhaps a priest, who preaches hellfire, and promises that only the House of Light can offer salvation, whilst he then returns to his home at night, and exports the very people he wishes to save.

Lives are stories. There are pitfalls that we can fall into, once our story begins, and it begins with a simple choice.

[ And then, she shrugged. ] At least, that is how it is where I come from. Stories, lives... they are threads in the pattern of Creation, and it is, unfortunately, all too predictable. At least if you know to look at it like a story. That is my Role, after all, which is why I title them so.