What if we are only part of a story some housewife in her late thirties is writing to kill time, yet so intricately that she has covered up all the timelines from the big bang to the end with all the history that we know of till now and the author decided that the characters should have no idea about their existence or purpose of being there

What is reality?
How vast is our universe now?
What is life?
What is death?

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