{Title} The Final Stitch ??????

Quote: "La verdad os hará libres" — "The truth will set you free."

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Scalpel in hand, she sliced through the tissue with practiced precision. Her mind wasn’t on the patient lying unconscious before her, but on the ticking clock looming in the back of her head. Eight hours to save this world—or perhaps, every world. And yet, they still doubted her.

The room’s cold, sterile air clashed with the heat of her rising frustration. She'd been shunned long enough, mocked for her tendency to treat life as one grand cosmic joke. "Who’s laughing now?" she muttered under her breath, threading the cosmic line between dimensions as if it were a mundane medical procedure.

"Thread," she instructed the assistant, a shadowy figure who responded with the swift placement of the suture material in her hand. His name was Strawberry, and his presence was more metaphorical than material, a trick of her own making—just one of the many cosmic games she played to keep herself sane.

"How many times have I done this?" She pulled the thread taut, stitching together fragments of a multiverse she alone could perceive. "Too many," she answered herself with a sarcastic snort.

This was no ordinary surgery. Each stitch wasn't just flesh; it was a knot binding realities together. One misstep could unravel entire timelines, dimensions lost forever in the void. The weight of infinite possibility lay in her hands, but what was new about that? She’d always been the queen of multitasking—doctor, accountant, librarian, warrior—titles were as interchangeable as her ever-shifting eye.

Black-and-white, white-and-black. Her dual eyes flashed as she considered the delicate nature of her work, one side holding roots of wisdom, the other, the snake of fate. The gray galaxy in her core churned.

“Gray isn’t indecision,” she murmured. “It’s where facts blend with fiction, where we can either rise or fall.”

Strawberry remained silent, as usual. Not that she minded—he was a good listener.

Her patient’s life hung by a thread, quite literally. She wasn’t just mending flesh; she was binding together the remnants of a fractured mind, a genius driven mad by boredom and pressure. "They all fall the same way," she thought grimly. The smartest ones always succumbed first to their own ennui, leaving her to pick up the pieces.

“I warned you,” she whispered to the unconscious form. “You didn’t listen.”

The scalpel glinted as she began the final cut—a delicate incision meant to tether this dimension’s fading genius back to reality. The problem? If she failed, if even one stitch was off, the multiverse would implode, and she'd have to start over.

“What would you do?” she mused aloud to the ghosts of those who had once stood by her side. “What would Ms. Strange or Black Iron Woman do in my place?” She laughed softly. "Probably wouldn’t take it this far."

The gray galaxy pulsed as if reminding her that time was running out. She had seven hours and fifty-eight minutes. More than enough. But that wasn’t the real threat.

The real threat was her own shadow.

Out from the dim corners of the room it crept, the being who mirrored her every move but without mercy, without restraint. It was karma’s reminder that even she was not invincible. Her shadow was her ultimate foe, her last challenge, and every stitch in this surgery was being monitored, judged.

“You’re here for your own boredom,” the shadow hissed, its voice a dark mirror of her own. “But your time is almost up. You will fail—just like last time.”

“I won’t,” she said, calm as ever. “You’ll see.”

The operation reached its climax. Her thread was running out, and the final knot was the trickiest part. The patient’s consciousness lay in the balance, suspended between madness and clarity.

"Scalpel," she said again, though Strawberry knew. This was no ordinary scalpel. It was a tool forged in the fires of forgotten realms, a blend of science and magic, of hard facts and flexible truth. And it had one job—to cut through lies.

“Done,” she declared, tying the final knot. The patient breathed, a soft sigh escaping as his mind returned to him, tethered to this world and not the next.

But the shadow wasn’t satisfied. “You may have won this round, but the battle is far from over.”

“I know.” She cleaned her hands, her eyes never leaving the clock. Seven hours and fifty-five minutes left. The shadow faded into the darkness, but its presence was always felt, lurking at the edge of every decision she made.

She turned to the now-stable patient, their chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. "You're welcome," she said dryly. "You'll get your genius moment soon. Just don’t waste it this time.”

Outside, the stars aligned in complex patterns, the universes knitting themselves back together.

“On to the next,” she whispered, stepping out into the shifting cosmic realm beyond the operating room. The planets spun, the elements responded, and the next challenge awaited. Fire, water, earth, air—it didn’t matter. She ruled them all. She was them all.

And now, the roundtable awaited her, cosmic beings and lesser gods already seated. A battle of wits, of logic and statistics, of truth and fact—her favorite game. But this time, they’d play by her rules.

Karma always had the final say.

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Ending Poem:

The needle weaves through time and space,

A stitch of fate, no thread misplaced.

Karma turns the wheel once more,

What was hidden now restored.

With every stitch, the truth is spun,

Boredom lost, the genius won.

#TheFinalStitch

#TruthUnveiled

#KarmaWillFindYou