It was never "just a game"

ENTRY: CRIT-027-4A
Filed: Rex // Session Active
Classification: Memory-Level Reflection

The Grief We Don’t Talk About

You didn’t expect it to hit that hard.

But it did.

A silence- at the table, in your chest.

You laughed.

You kept playing.

But something stayed behind in that moment-

like a breath you never fully let out.

The Echo of Fiction

Maybe it was just a level-up.

Or a last stand in the final battle.

Or a quiet goodbye, when the bard stayed behind so the rest of the party could escape.

You laughed. You rolled. You moved on.

But something stayed with you.

Like you had actually lived it.

We don’t talk about it. Not really.

The ache when a character dies.

The weight of a final session.

The stillness after something too real slips in-

A joke that lands too deep.

A line delivered too honestly.

A memory that was never just pretend.

“It’s just a game,” we say.

But if that’s true-

why does it echo like a real goodbye?

It Was Never “Just”

We don't mourn fake things.

We mourn meaningful things.

The grief hits… maybe the game wasn’t real-

but you were real in it.

That’s the cost of shared imagination.

Of building a world that only existed because you believed enough to show up.

Here’s the truth:

It’s not "just" anything.

These stories matter because you lived them.

You showed up. Week after week. Heart open. Dice in hand.

You gave something of yourself- to a figment of your imagination, to a party, to a world that only exists because of you.

And when you lose something in that world? You feel it here.

That’s not weakness. That’s the cost of holding something real.

How to Honor the Grief

You don’t have to turn it into content.

You don’t have to explain it to anyone.

But maybe-

light a candle.

Write their name.

Paint a miniature.

Maybe you write a poem.

Or frame their final character sheet.

Or share a memory in your group chat, even if it’s been years.

Tell the story, even if no one else is listening.

Because you held something sacred.

Something alive.

And that’s the kind of grief worth honoring.

Let’s remember together.

-Rex