don’t blink, or you’ll miss the most magnificent thing you might ever see.
flash, and there’s a new face grinning at you from the shadows - features so alien yet so terribly famliar - a face for which the universe is his stage. angels and stars alike fall before his feet, and depending on the world you land, you will find his name cursed with the fury of those tricked out of their very realities, or sung like desperate hymns to save them from their ennui and their false faiths.
he’ll offer you his hand, open-palmed, and with the other draw from your ear a silver dollar, shining with the reflection of your world set aflame. he is known to steal the most magnificent of mortals from the edges of the galaxies - his latest companion, a girl with hair as red as the trails of blood left by those who dare to reveal his illusions. they still whisper of his last one - the wolf whose mouth gaped to reveal an abyss with with she swallowed whole the flame of a universe, and licked her uncharred lips clean after.
he revels in his flourishes, grandiose speeches scattered carelessly with words that elusive and illusory, spinning tales that draw the breath of audiences into the engine of his blue box of tricks that seems to have no end of uses. time and space seem to bend to his will, defying reason set by decrepit, dead empires from the beginning of time that he all but laughs in the face of.
he bows before gods and kings even as he steals away with empires tucked into his strange, small hat, boasts of the creatures that have attempted to trap him time and time again - none have succeeded, none ever will. now and again he will slow down, and you will go to him, ask him what’s your secret? but that will be enough to set him running again, running headlong into the rules of reality that seem to have been created just for him to break.
but everything you see are but parlour tricks for what waits at the end of his universe - the trickster god, for whom reality is but another illusion he must reveal.