It seemed almost laughably easy. All his fatalism, all the nightmare scenarios that plagued his mind, every sickening memory of feeling what he was slipping hopelessly through his fingers, and here was someone just... offering to solve his problem for him. Or at least give him a brief stopgap. No strings attached.
"How, um," he hesitated, the uncertainty bleeding into his face. "How does it work? I mean, I know you write it, it gets remembered, but. Don't that mean you could make the story anything?" He grimaced; that sounded faintly like an accusation and this time he hadn't meant it that way. "I don't, I don't mean you'd... Whatever you write, it's gonna change what they think, yeah? I just. I don't wanna be..."
Stutely trailed, not sure how to finish that sentence. If they remembered him different, if it changed him, wasn't that still better than losing it all? Was it any different at all to every other change mortals had brought to the story over the years?