What if the world really were as orchestrated as some imagine (every headline prewritten, every tragedy rehearsed, every coincidence a signal in disguise)? The thought stirs something both dreadful and oddly reassuring. If everything is planned, then nothing is wasted. There’s a script, a purpose, a conductor behind the noise. The horror of chaos fades, replaced by the comfort of knowing that at least someone, somewhere, is driving the story.

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