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Without Margins by Threetails
Constrained, bound, you were not meant to dwell this way.
Now run here, in the long corridors between.
Fleet flicks the eye on an image dark,
Hazy, but I sense familiar forms:
These are my children, escaped from their paper nurseries.
Each best-laid plan the stuff of derision,
Each perfect setting the haunt of mischievous imps.
This was inspired by a dream I had back in 2010 while both delirious with fever and feeling the effects of the maximum safe dose of Nyquil.
Needless to say, I'm kind of hypersensitive to the stuff.
Anyway, in the dream, all I had was a vague sense of all the characters, settings, and plots of everything I ever wrote coming completely unglued and all of the characters more or less acquiring free will to romp in any part of my imagination they chose.
Oddly enough, the only character that ever materialized was a random foxtaur who wasn't even in any of my stories.
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