Mister Good and Missis Evil

They are in a game.
And they've just discovered the player's hand.

She is the final boss: a demon queen of perfect, manic code. Her world-conquering is a programmed dance of triumph. The world trembles at her feet-a flawless execution of her design. She is the villain no one can stop, yearning for a meaning beyond her script.

He is the playable hero: a sun-bright blade of joyous energy. His quest is a cascade of victories and cheering crowds. The world chants his name-a perfect run towards the ending. He is the savior no one fears, desperate for a challenge that is truly real.

Then, a glitch in the system. A flaw in the logic.

They see it. The UI bleeding at the edges of their vision. The repetitive dialogue of the NPCs. The invisible walls of their destinies.

Their war is not their own. Their passions are not their own.
The only thing the game did not code for? The raw, unscripted understanding that sparks between them.

This collection is the poetry they were never meant to have.
The verses spoken in the stolen moments between respawns.
It is the elegy for the prison of a saved game,
and the hymn for a love that could crash the entire server.