Greetings, readers. You do not know me, but I know you. Or rather, of you.
I have many names, but you may call me Malachi. I am a Watcher, as are all of you. I am a guardian of sorts, and a story teller of a sort also. But most importantly, I watch and I tell.
And I am to tell you that the stories of the Treehouse end here.
Yet, there is hope.
As you may know, the great evil that had been lurking just outside of the Treehouse grounds for years has finally found its way in.
It threatened the lives of every single soul in the Treehouse. Many of the dolls and stuffies fell into inertia, and some were lost to it.
Forgive me, I am not the one who was to explain this, but I shall do my best. Inertia is a sleep... a sleep of toys. But it is not a peaceful, gentle darkness. It can be a cold and lonely place, as a toy re-lives every love and every loss it has ever known. To those who have never known love, it is nothing, for there is no loss to remember. But to those who have been treasured and cherished, and then lost or forgotten, the memories can be devastating.
Not all who go inert ever "awaken" and so it is with many of those you knew living here at the Treehouse. The evil presence was too vile, and smothering, and that tiny spark of life simply too fragile to survive the emotional violence this evil brought in with it.
Gage and Lenore, both unable to actually enter inertia, fought valiantly. They tried to fight the demon, and when they realized they could not win, they tried to get everyone out before its approaching darkness overtook the Treehouse.
They failed.
In the end, the Treehouse fell through the lies and betrayal of a traitor, who gave it unto the hands of the demon itself. Lenore and Gage themselves were nearly overtaken, but now are in safety, away from demon and Treehouse alike.
They are nearly overwhelmed with their grief and loss, and they fear they are the only ones who have survived.
They may well be right. But until the dust settles and their tears dry, their vision is clouded, and they cannot see what is or is not around them, and that will only come with time.
And so, the stories of the pixies and fae of the Treehouse end here, lost in the darkness of betrayal and heartbreak.
However, even as one story ends, another begins, and it starts to grow. In time, it begs to be told in a voice so demanding that it must be heard and spoken and written.
But that time is not quite yet.
Do not lose hope for the exiles, for they will find their way. And do not forget the stories you have heard here, for that which is remembered lives, and those tiny souls, even those lost to the demon, will live on only through the treasured memories of we, the Watchers.
At this time, I cannot tell you more. I can only suggest that you check back at the beginning of September and see if the dust has settled and the tears have dried and the story has begun anew...
That is all I can say, for now, readers. Believe and remember. We will see them again. Soon.
Farewell.