The parable of the psychosis mists
Because you can never have just one . Any similarities to the empires in this story and hyperbolic keyboard warriors in the wider Internet are almost certainly mist-borne figments of the reader's imagination. Once, a very long time from now, there was a village. Life in this village was hard, but the people in the village were content with what they had—no matter the hardship, they believed that the Universal Law rewarded hard work with ample reward, and they knew not to beg for more. But this was not a peaceful life. Occasionally some mysterious tragedy would befall the village: in the night, with no discernible frequency but often enough to keep everyone on edge, someone would die horribly. Their mangled bodies would be found in their houses, or in the village green, or in one of trees of the forest... or in several trees. Every death was subtly different, enough to unnerve even the village elders each time. These events were frightening, but the forest was dark and full of mal...