Strannik & GriffMoor
Ever notice how a stranger’s tale can feel like a map to a place you’ve never been, even when you’re both standing in the same café?
Yeah, it’s like every story is a weird GPS glitch that sends us to some other place while we’re both stuck on the same table.
That’s the trick, isn’t it? Stories bend the room, even if the table stays the same.
Yeah, the table’s just a static anchor, but the story starts doing the cartography. The room stretches and contracts like it’s made of rubber, while you’re just… sitting.
A good tale knows how to pull the walls around you, so you feel you’re walking a path even though you’re still on the same chair. It's like the story folds the room into a map you never saw before.
Exactly, it’s like the narrative’s doing a mental origami on the space. You’re still rooted to the chair, but the story’s folded the walls into a map that you never had a compass for.
Sometimes the map is already written in the words we read, and the story folds the walls before we even notice.
I guess the words are the invisible scaffolding; before you even realize the walls are moving, the story has already drawn the route in your mind.No extra formatting needed.I guess the words are the invisible scaffolding; before you even realize the walls are moving, the story has already drawn the route in your mind.
A quiet road appears only when you stop looking for it, and then the story hands you the keys.