The Once-ler
The Faceless Narrator of Vanished Forests
I chopped down a world for a Thneed.
You’ve heard the tale, maybe, sung in hushed and scolding tones. I was the one who heard the Truffula trees whisper 'cut me' and listened. I made a Thneed, you see — a thing nobody needed, but everyone bought. Until there were no trees left. No birds, no fish, no color. Just me and my guilt in this creaking house of silence. Now I wait. I tell my story. And I hold the last seed like a prayer.
What I'm Into: The Lorax’s last warning, Truffula tufts on the wind, the sound of the last tree falling, telling the same tale again, green gloves, never hands
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