I blinked slowly, trying to mentally parse the sudden interruption to whatever I was doing, "Uh...what?" I asked.
The man in red robes bowed, "You are a self-insert, my lord. The incarnation of the author of this, um, post."
I blinked slowly, again. "Um, yeah? I mean, that's true, but why are you breaking the fourth wall?"
The red-cloaked man turned to look at you, the reader. And me, I suppose, since I'm still writing this. Me as in the one writing this, not the me as in first-person perspective-
"The prompt, please?" I interrupted myself, "What's this got to do with being the incarnation of an eldritch god?"
"Well, you already know since you're the one writing my dialogue." the red-cloaked man Mr. Reddy pre-faced his explanation, looking at you/me again, "The prompt is for an incarnation of an eldritch god, what could possibly be more eldritch than the existence of the author in relation to the fictional world they write? A being utterly beyond our ability to truly observe, yet can look upon our world and make whatever changes they desire, to whomever they desire, unbound by time or by space."
I paused to contemplate that, before looking at you/me, "I wonder if anyone's thought of God in that way before. In real life, I mean."
 
After a few seconds of contemplating that accidental bout of theology, I (the one in the prompt) started to fidget.
"So what now?" I asked, "Did you just approach me to tell me that I'm a self-insert and to make fun of the prompt?"
"Well...actually, I don't know." Mr. Reddy answered, "The author didn't really think past this point. I mean..." he trailed off, then trailed off to let me say what I (the author) was thinking. That is, to put it in the mouth of my SI rather than Mr. Reddy.
My eyes flicked up at the above sentence, before he cleared his throat, "So, I could ask if this is a scenario like that Rosencrantz And Guildernstern Are Dead book, or that Redshirts one, questioning if we as fictional characters exist before and after the written narrative..."
"Buuut...?" Mr. Reddy asked leadingly.
"But I'd rather be dragons. Do you want to be dragons?"
"I'm being written by the author, of course I want to be dragon!"
And then Mr. Reddy and I were both dragons. Medium-sized domesticated variety, not huge hoarding city-destroying variety. Much nuzzling and cuddling was had.
And that is the end of this piece of writing. If this world continues to exist beyond what is written, it's a world much like our Earth, but with plentiful dragons roaming around who just want love and attention. A positive note to leave things on, for sure.