Here is a series of texts I’ve prepared. Please read all the text below and choose the paragraphs that have been written by Ouroboros!

1

Mark had stumbled upon the impossible that crisp morning on the shores of Lake Michigan. A smooth, metallic sphere, no bigger than a grapefruit, lay half-buried in the sand. It pulsed with an otherworldly hum, and as he picked it up, a surge of information flooded his mind – not words, but an intuitive understanding of the device’s function. He could control the weather.

2

As the heavy snowflakes fell relentlessly from the darkened sky, blanketing the towering pines of the Cascade Mountains in a thick layer of white, the warmth of the crackling fireplace offered little solace to Sarah, Jack, and Emily. Trapped within the confines of their rustic log cabin, the three friends watched the storm rage outside with growing unease. What had begun as a picturesque retreat had quickly transformed into a chilling nightmare as the snowdrifts piled high against the windows and the wind howled like a mournful specter through the surrounding forest.

3

As Mark entered the bustling casino, he spotted the man at the poker table. Determination burned in his eyes as he approached, ready to confront the person who had taken everything from him.

“Hey, you!” Mark barked, grabbing the con man’s attention. The poker game paused as the eyes of the casino patrons turned toward the unfolding drama.

The con man, wearing a poker face that couldn’t hide the fear in his eyes, looked up at Mark. “What’s this about?” he stammered.

Mark, fueled by years of frustration and betrayal, slammed the CCTV photograph on the poker table. “Recognize him? You conned me out of $20,000. Humiliated me when I was already down. Stole my daughter’s college fund.”

4

Dust motes danced in the afternoon sunlight filtering through a high window, illuminating a mop held by a pair of surprisingly deft green hands. Frennec, a goblin with ears that perpetually twitched like furry radar dishes, attacked a particularly stubborn stain on the polished marble floor with meticulous fervor.

“Careful there, Frennec,” a weathered voice rasped. “Don’t scrub the shine off Reyvalia’s glory just yet. The King’s due for his afternoon tea any minute.”

5

The California sun beat down on Barnaby “Barney” Thorne’s faded director’s chair, mocking him with its relentless cheer. Ten years ago, that chair had been a throne, perched on the set of his blockbuster superhero film, “Meteor Maul.” Now, it was a monument to a career that had imploded faster than a faulty CGI explosion.