Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint English Novels & Stories

Third Person POV "Ladies and gentlemen! It saddens me in a joyful way that four people have now made it to the winner level, but we are still unable to choose. My goodness! It was as if their brains contained this world as a whole, and there was nothing that they didn't know, It was clearly impossible, yet it was happening here before our eyes. Our questions are running out, but goodness may have it, we are inquiring more and more questions, and how we will continue from now on is to ask, ask and ask till three drops out finally!"

“Before I became your daughter.” She remembered the empty space. A presence watching. A consciousness outside creation. Not the Observer. Something beyond it. “The Observer wasn’t the highest power.” Noah nodded. “It was only a guardian.” Sophia asked: “Guardian of what?” Seraphina whispered: “The Reader.” The Difference Lucien frowned. “What’s the difference?” Noah answered: “The Observer watched the story.” He pointed toward the page. “The Reader decides which story is allowed to exist.” Silence. Sophia looked at the sentence predicting her death.

The quietness of it had a different quality from the quietness of an empty room - the quality of something that has been said and cannot be unsaid, of a direction chosen that has closed the alternative directions behind it. I sat back down and opened my laptop. I went to the article. Not searching for weaknesses in it, not looking for the sentence that could be challenged or the paragraph that could be reframed. I read it as a reader would - as someone encountering it without prior knowledge of the person at its center, without any investment in how it reflected on anyone in particular. She had not named me.

For I didn’t only hear the tale in the words. I saw it. I tasted it. I smelled it. Not through my own eyes, but through the eyes of those who had been with me, the perspective moving from person to person, giving me a bizarre sensation of omniscience. Like…like I was seeing events as the gods did. I observed myself, jaw pulled tight and amber eyes ablaze with anxiety, my step awkward and tortured. All around me, there were gasps as people in the audience felt an echo of what each step had been like for me, and I flinched.

My voice did not shake. The man tilted his head. He didn't have a face, just a shifting darkness where his features should be. "You can call me the Reader," he said. His voice sounded like paper rubbing together. "I am the one who pays for the ink. I am the one who decides if your story ends here or keeps going." Bryan stepped in front of me, his hand on his pistol. "He’s another code, Hazel. Don’t listen to him." The Reader laughed. It was a dry, thin sound. "A copy thinks he has a choice. How cute."

"Return the Final Reader." "Or this story ends here." The Pen of Endings suddenly burst into brilliant white light. For the first time... it spoke. Not with a voice. With a sentence that appeared across the air itself. "Only the Author may choose the ending." Adrian looked around him. The First Reader... The Stranger... The woman... The boy... Every one of them was waiting. Not for a miracle. For his decision. Adrian slowly walked forward. He stopped only a few steps away from the masked figure.

The recognition was the recognition of someone who was in the being. He said: "The argument is invisible." Don looked at him. "You have made the argument invisible by making it the form," Ernest said. "The reader who is inside a long accumulation will feel it in the reading — the recognition of what the ordinary day contains. The reader who is not inside a long accumulation will appreciate the writing but not fully find the argument." He held Don's gaze. "This is the most honest book because the argument is only available to the reader who has earned it."

Clara said, pointing. Anya read it. “I know,” she said. “You’ve been protecting something in that sentence,” Clara said. “What is it?” Anya thought about it honestly. “The reader who will find it self-indulgent,” she said. “The reader who will think the specific is too small, too personal, not worth the space it takes.” “That reader doesn’t exist,” Clara said. “I know they don’t,” Anya said. “My body doesn’t know that yet.”

'I have to act tough because this girl might be a human demoness, a famous breed of slut that can manipulate powerful men, the kind which is ten levels higher than Christine. His eyes flashed. "Hey, Miss Agatha. Do you know what omniscience means?" Confusion crossed over her face. He resumed talking. "It's knowing everything. And believe me or not, I kinda have that ability." He paused a bit and looked at Agatha whose expression has an obvious 'This scum must be nuts' written on it. He grinned and looked down to see her shoes stepping back again. "We never truly spoke before. But I know one information that can make you believe that I'm omniscient. You have a secret that you don't want peopl

#HAREM_OF_LUST 🔞 #CHAPTER_3 🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓 🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓 🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓 🍓🍓🍓 🍓🍓 🍓 #OMNISCIENT_POV