Once. Once there was a reader, who looked through worlds like photographs in a gallery. The Reader loved, and the Reader cared. The Reader awoken in a world, each world different from the last. The Reader would read, and the Reader would live in worlds unlike or much alike to their own.

Regardless, the words on the page were more than words. It painted on a canvas, like a sweet tune that hummed through the trees. Soft, Kind, and sometimes a little bitter. The words were words, a medium to communicate, and it told tales of Kings, of Heroes and Villains, of Lovers, of Children. It told of worlds where the land was green and the bounty was plentiful, or of worlds where the sky rained ash and the land burned with the fire of an ongoing war.

Once there was a Reader, who looked upon this desolate world, with words on an empty screen, and wondered what they would mean.

Once. Once there was a story, a story that wanted to be read. And so it searched, and it found the Reader.

And the Reader opened its pages, and began to explore the world the Story wanted for them.