"Does it?" Vikram stretched his toes, revealing a row of claws as black as obsidian. "Once a story leaves the hands of its author, it belongs to the reader. And the reader may see any number of things, conflicting things, contradictory things. The author goes silent. If what he intended mattered so very much, there would be no need for inquisitions and schisms and wars. But the author of the world is silent. We are left with no intentions by our own.
The Bird King by G. Willow Wilson