The note this tale began on came from a major scale and so was a relatively happy note. Energy spent searching for the exact scale would be an exercise in squandering valuable daylight or moonlight. D Major might sound close enough. Or maybe it was just good old G.

As a matter of knowledge common enough to be considered settled fact, this tale enjoyed the good fortune of wise epics and the odd tome or three who cared enough to instill the importance, the virtue, of never comparing itself to other tales. Yes, there were tales that boasted more action; vivid imagery. But take stock, take heart, oh dear young tale, while the surface may appear placid, still, by standards rewarding the outwardly impressive, so as to be considered rather dull, well, it is simply indication of their own relative dearth of depth, unable to appreciate powerfully passionate currents and wild worlds that pulse beneath the surface.

Why would it not know a buoyancy in its basic composition, as it was created within a complex fueled by an affection immune to doubt? Crafted from the core of a charitable heart with the single desire to see the tale know not only happiness for itself but to bring happiness to whoever may encounter or otherwise touch; whoever may come within range allowing the journeyer to incline eye, mind, imagination so as to create connection and return appreciation for said journey, may that one depart the coupling feeling better, knowing their world had been improved. Spreading happiness: what greater purpose could a tale know? In this case, Joy is considered an exact synonym.

Knowledge of having value through willingness to serve must be all the reward the tale could dream of receiving. A few extra coins to drop in the piggy bank slit would only be an extra helping of sweetness to the being who actually created the tale. No reason for a creator to feel guilty if his tales happened to reap a few bucks or lots of bucks, because of propagating happiness.

It was also the first tale from the restored and renewed Tower of Tales, which enterprise leaned firmly into a remake of its existential or original purpose. And true to the plans devised in the Tower of Tales, though the notion of these plans being driven by a strong strain of idealism would've won few devotees, especially Tale Managers with offices in the higher heights where days were passed with massaging pressure on the theme of plush or the plushy, remaining casually open to encompassing a cousin concept known as Cushy; as in an embrace of poring over projects well after sunset.

Now this landmark edifice this setting knew as the Tower of Tales did not just crop up from a vacant space overnight. Nothing, not even seed or sprout could begin a beginning without passion-driven interest in what the Tower’s world must be.

Its reputation was no reputation founded on rumor but acceptance of its purpose. Funny how large it grew while few openly admitted it was the funnest aspect available in all the city. Some beings enjoyed a night of downtown dinner and strolling quiet cobblestone streets at midnight. Others wanted to take a vacation from what they knew as the Real World or to explore another way of experiencing a Real World.

What had changed was the direction. Intentions shifted to a preference for channeling creative passions into new territory. The Tale Tower founders, young and fearless (some could say fearlessness taken too far crossed into the careless), originally sought to create creations flowing thick with aromas that tended to exceed the bounds of the merely romantic. Fringes were studied. If these studies missed out on actual experiences, there was always the special rooms for meditative fantasy. Experiments conducted. As long as it was all fiction and nothing but fiction... what else, what other quality, gave the idea of fictional tales the excitement they or it did.

But one morning the president of this Tale Tower enterprise came awake with a revelation. Never would he agree the revelation had anything but mystical origins; some power or force or entity chose to communicate directly. It was time for a change. Had not this adventure run its course? Had not the thrill of imagining various possibilities fallen weak?

Now this monumental spiritual morning did of course have precedent or an influential event. The primary maker and founder had proceeded in the enterprise without getting out much. But one day happening to be in an uncharacteristically quiet mood, he found himself wandering along paths and alleys both abstract and concrete. Happened to step through a door that entered a narrow room. Mostly dark room. But then a screen flashed on. Images appeared on the screen. Never would the magnitude of horror be adequately expressed at having to witness such an intelligence-insulting production. And no other conclusion could be made except certainty that the product’s purpose – the intentional use of the stupidest possible combination of words – was to viciously attack brain cells; destroy neurons; erase joy of independent, deep, thought originating from love of sweating for the sake of originality.

“Did my enterprise contribute to this horror?”