Maeve often said the multiverse was a terrible travel agent. Whenever she decided to take time for herself, the cosmos always found a way to drop an unscheduled event in her lap.
This time, though, she was determined. She needed a vacation. A proper one. No divine meetings, no collapsing timelines, no mortals begging her to untangle their destinies. Just peace, maybe a quiet dimension with soft skies and a beach where probability itself could rest.
She sat at the edge of a cliff in the Writiverse, the threads of countless possibilities shimmering behind her like a curtain of stars. With a casual flick of her hand, she tightened a few strands so the universes would not immediately trip over themselves in her absence.
"I deserve this," she muttered, leaning back on her palms. "If the gods of thunder and chaos can vanish for centuries, surely I can take one week."
The air trembled in response, as if disagreeing. A ripple spread across the threads, not sharp enough to signal disaster but loud enough for Maeve to notice. She frowned.
"Do not start," she said to the Writiverse itself. "This is my holiday request. Approved and stamped."
Still, the shimmer grew stronger, vibrating with an energy that was not hers. Maeve blinked. It almost felt like the universe was tugging at her wrist, urging her to follow a path she had not chosen.
Before she could argue, the cliff beneath her cracked open and the entire world folded in on itself like a page being turned.
Maeve had a single thought before everything collapsed into light.
"So much for cosmic HR."
The vacation she had planned was gone. Something else, far stranger, had been scheduled in her name.