I thought this author was trying to hard, but I enjoyed this anyway...

All past scenes. All mummified in vintage yellow police tape, displaying warding epithets in four different languages. They were all the abandoned stages of other players. The disarrayed remnants of a wild performance with abused props still scattered where they had been disposed of.

This time, I figured, it was my own stage, my own script and my own trio of acts.

Somewhere distant, past the imperceptibly sprawling borders of the city. I saw the fragments of an origami Bengal tiger folded by your hands crumble and scatter on an unbound wind, and wished I was there.

fragments of an origami tiger