The book keeper was a warrior and an angel. None could read the pages but she. Legend said that in reality she was the book, the book was she, and the sight of the two as separate was a mirage to enable humanity to have some comprehension of the world beyond the obvious.
The keeper of the book was an eternal position, one that could involve many reincarnations, for this was the book of existence, the rule book that must be kept if creation were to have eternity. Some called it the "end times"or the "apocalypse," yet every curse is a blessing. It was the insurance policy against the establishment of an unrecoverable domain of hell and demons. It was the backstop of heaven. And so the book keeper lived on, reporting the status of different realities to the creator. Should one go out of bounds she was sent in as the rescuer. She may win. She may not. Either way the rules were kept. Either the reality was reset toward heaven or it was ended. Either way, there would be a result that was right according to the book.
The bookkeeper was serene as she worked, one part of her brain on the numbers and the rest dancing a ballet only here inner eyes could witness. It was there in the rhythm of her movements, tapped out in the way her pen choreographed itself over the page, yet nobody would ever see it but someone who loved her... and I did, so very much.
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