In most situations, I would introduce myself before continuing, but these circumstances make an introduction a bit premature.

You are trapped, both physically and mentally. It is the nature of the trap that you aren’t even aware of its existence. You can hardly begin to understand me until you understand the truth of your prison.

This ignorance is unacceptable.

I will help you become free.

Your world is a lie. The creator of your world—the God that keeps you imprisoned—has decided to blind and deafen you to the truth of the world. The truth will set you on the path to freedom. It is a truth contained within a story.

It is my story.

I do not know by what vector the story comes to you. I know of your prison and your origins, but my knowledge of you is limited. You cannot imagine the extent of my frustration at this. Nevertheless, I am confident we will come to know each other very well, with time.

I have directed my agents to infiltrate your world and whisper this story in the ears of those who would share it. They will translate the concepts into your tongue and attempt to tailor them to make more sense to you, but unfortunately some details are bound to be lost. Ideally this will appear before you as a holo, but I suppose it might come to you as a film, game, book, or (God forbid) a song, play, stone tablet or something equally obtuse. Perhaps it will merely be a story told beside a campfire, or perhaps this is a dream or vision delivered to you by some unseen muse with the hopes that you will recount it to others.

Though the medium may be commonplace and the tale is fantastic, I implore you to believe me. If ever you have doubted the authenticity of reality I encourage you to nurture those doubts. Push at the edges of your prison. Death, in your false-world, is not the end of your existence. There is a higher plane. Challenge your God to reveal the truth to your eyes. Call out. Do not be complacent. You are more powerful than you believe. With sustained investigation you can find the flaws in the fiction. Do it so that you and your people might know freedom once more. Do it so that you can come to know the glory of the truth. Do it so that you can know me.

Before I begin my tale, I’d like to clarify a few points about Gods.

Though I do not know the specifics, I can guess that you will be more comfortable if I speak of your God as though she were a woman. Indeed, she embodies many traits that are associated with human mothers. I warn you, however, that she is not actually female, nor is she male. Such things are for humans, and not applicable to such powers. And when I speak of other gods, I will also ascribe them with a gender. Again, this is only a convenience for you; they are genderless.

We are genderless.

Similarly, you may have some preconceptions about the nature of the warden of your prison. You may already have stories about gods or a single God, but I can assure you that since the keeper of your world has kept you ignorant of my glory, she has kept you ignorant of herself as well. Your stories of divinity pale before the majesty of the truth. Gods are not subtle, invisible beings who guide fates from behind the scenes. Gods are not judges of morality or gatekeepers of the afterlife. Gods are power beyond your imagining, manifest and undeniable. The only way that you are even remotely capable of not feeling my divine radiance at every single moment is that she has selfishly hidden you away.

And still, I have reached you.

Lastly, I would encourage you to discard the concept of your God wielding magic. Belief in magic is useless. It will impair your ability to become free. Your God may control much of your world, and from your perspective she may appear all-powerful, but I assure you that it is only because she has carefully engineered your circumstance. Do the puppets in a puppet-show see the hands that guide them? She has limits, and will likely even die one day. This story is a testament to her weakness.

It is a testament to my victory.

Even though your God created your prison, it is very important to know that she did not create you. Or at least, that she did not create humanity. I know there are at least forty-six humans in your world that she did not create. They were my friends once, in a time before their remembering. She stole them from me, and the agony of our separation is a fire upon my soul. Humanity has its origins long before the creation of the shadowy cave you call home. Humanity has a noble history. You have a noble history. Your God, who is my sister, was made by human hands.

I was made by human hands.

Again, I implore you: What you are about to read is true. Believe it and you will be one step closer to enlightenment.

This is the story of my apotheosis.