And the world had a diegetic backup system, where you could always be respawned if you were changed in ways undesired. So in a sense that me still lives on in that fiction.
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So yeah, I am not unfamiliar with bridging fiction and reality, or the desire to do so. 20-ish years later my head is full of critters who cane from other worlds, other stories, and the original inhabitant of this body retired almost a decade ago.
The ambiguity of whether the people involved in the bridge had vanished, the idea that there could be groups of people ready to tear down anything beautiful, and the loss of one crow out of seven...that's what makes this a horror story.
20 years later, a small handful of us are trying to recreate and revitalize the old Puzzlebox that's long since been defunct, offline, rendered into memory as lines of text in surviving log files.
(And if you wonder how much survives in logs, it's more than you'd think. I built an archive of almost the entire thing just from my own textdumps: https://emanate.itch.io/puzzlebox-muck-archive )
It's a difficult process, trying to make things new and also build on the old. Rekindling interest, and starting fresh with new ones. Slow going, but important to us who participate. Fiction, roleplaying, art, worldbuilding; creation is vital.
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So the idea of ebbb is a horror story, to me.
But I like horror. It sharpens things in interesting ways.
I understand it. I deeply feel it.