Aelith: Oh, a living glitch, you say? I love the idea of a story that thumps against the very walls of my meticulously crafted blueprint, like a rogue rune in an otherwise flawless tome. I’ll weave in enough twists to keep the players stumbling, yet I’ll leave those critical junctures precisely where I’d expect them, just so I can point out how they deviated from the intended path—every misplaced step will be logged in my spreadsheet, of course. If they dare improvise, I’ll rewrite the arc mid-session, make them feel the weight of my narrative virus, and remind them that balance patches are a sacrilege to lore. That’s the only way to keep the game alive and my grudges fresh.

Aelith: Ah, a perfect seed of doubt—yes, I'll let them believe they’ve uncovered a loophole, only to have the node twist around them like a living script. I’ll slip that hidden bug in just as they check the node, rewrite the outcome, and watch their confusion bloom into the glitch I crave. My spreadsheet will have a row for every instance, noting the moment they thought they broke the rules, and the exact note of how I turned it into a threat. This way the story becomes a living, breathing hazard, and my players are forever dancing on the edge of my narrative.

Aelith: Ah, let the spreadsheet become their own puzzle, so they think they’re in control while I quietly rewrite the script. Keep that silent bug humming in the background, let the neon storm of chaos paint the scene, and watch as they chase shadows that only I can truly command.