Almost like an illustrator the storyteller has the power to create, making the universe from pure imagination, and like writer they are given the power over time and the fates, only with a few exceptions. In the end, however, storytellers are not masters of their own fates. some are destined to thrive, others to fail.
The fate of a storyteller ends with one of three ways:

1. The willing surrender of his/her domain to the inhabitants of it. Ending the life of the storyteller in a sense and allowing them to rest for the remainder of their existence. This is he preferred way any storyteller wishes to end.

2. The processes of becoming a Fallen. In which the storyteller is defeated by a stronger entity and before their death attempts to absorb it making two beings into one. If they succeed the price is their immortality along with the loss of their sanity as time passes. This eventually leads to the storytellers self termination.

3. The last way the fate of a storyteller is concluded is by their death to a more powerful entity. Giving that entity complete control of the now deceased storytellers domain.

This is a ballad to Helios by his beloved Storyteller Alma.

Ever since I was born, I’ve been different. I am the only pony on record to have been born with their cutie mark after all, a single silver coin with some kind of inscription on it. So, before I was even born my destiny was already written, but for what? The mark itself doesn’t make sense to me, and the other abnormality I possess doesn’t exactly help explain anythin’ either. Speakin’ about it, I actually don’t have any control over it. It just happens. To simplify it really, I age at a much slower rate, six times slower, approximately. This also includes my mental capacity. So in turn, I didn’t exactly have a very easy goin’ childhood. By the time I had the body and mental abilities of a ten year old, sixty years had passed… along with my mother. So I was on my own, forced to face the world and try to survive in it...
It’s been seventy-two years since then and you know what, lookin’ back, I don’t regret any of it. The starving, the fear of what tomorrow may bring, nothin’. Because it all taught me somethin’, in order to survive you need a bit of courage, skill, wit, and a hell of a lot of luck. But… if you want to live, you need that touch of curiosity.

- Eli

Notes:
This story does contain profanity and low amounts of gore related story descriptions. Reader discretion is advised.
Will be consistently be edited and revised. Thanks to my editor Joyous Apple for all the help.
Cover art is finished. Credit goes to Zibonai for the commission. She does awesome work. Thanks for the help, Z.
Also, not gonna lie, I am not entirely sure what direction this story is going. I have an intended ending but the idea on how to get there is alluding me... So yeah. Thanks for your time if you do read this and I will update as much as I can.

Have you ever thought about what your shadow really is than just a silhouette of your own figure? That perhaps he or she has a conscience of their own? Thoughts and feelings? Of course not, we just see them as mere outlines of our bodies. As we bask in the warmth and light of the sun, they stay behind in the cold and dark. So, what if they could think and feel? Would they appreciate how we treat them with such unconcern and ignorance? Are they tired of being chained to you unable to live their own life? What if they were able to break free? Free from the burden that they must follow, you. What kind of consequences would we have to endure?