>Timeskip end

You dream.

There is nothing, and there is nothing, and there is nothing, and there is nothing, and there is nothing, and there is nothing, and there is nothing, and there is nothing, and there is you.

Nothing before. Nothing after. There is, and was, and will only ever be you.

It is very dark here. And quiet.

————

You will have this dream nightly for the next three weeks.

———

When you wake up, it's morning. You find Gil. Gil says he figured you'd be okay, but he's still glad. You tell Gil that Richard is an eight-foot-tall lizard. He says that seems about right. Then he gives the matter further contemplation. "...Does that mean he eats bugs?"

«Tell Beetles to use his imagination.»

You tell Gil to use his imagination. Gil doesn't seem to want to do that. You sidle up next to him and use your own imagination, training your eyes on him really hard until he yelps and goes pop. "Shit!", several hundred beetles say, mostly surprised, a little annoyed. "Lottie! What—"

"I just wanted to see," you say, and hold your fist up into the swarm. "Here. You can land on me. I— I think I'm going to be God."

There's a silence. Beetles crowd onto your arm. "I-I-I know."

"I know too. But I really think so now. Richard could've been lying the whole time, but... he actually was a giant lizard... it's happening. I turned you into bugs."

"...I-I-It'd be more impressive if you turned anybody else into bugs, I think."

"Oh. Good point. I don't think I can do that. It works on you because you're not real, probably. But if I'm wrong, and I ever see Horse Face again, I'll turn him into an ugly slug, okay? You can turn back now. I'm not looking."

"Oh." A flash in the corner of your eye: Gil's wrist squishes into your hand.

"See? Easy! Oh, speaking of 'not real,' did you want to help with my manse? You were really good with the trees. I think, since I put the fire lake in it, now I want to add other things. Like saw blades!" Gil is not following. "You know? So if Jean Ramsey barges in, she'll step on a pressure plate, and then a saw blade will chop her in half? Like that. Or, I don't know, arrows shoot out of the wall?"

Gil works his face. "Sleeping gas?"

"Yes! Or she presses a button, and sleeping gas comes out of a vent! Exactly. So you'll help?"

He pulls his wrist away gently. "Well, I-I am your sworn retainer."

"And friend," you correct him.

"...And friend."

He helps, and gets excited about trying to rig actual traps into your walls— with mechanisms and things— even though you try to tell him it doesn't matter. Later, he'll stomp on an indented tile, and the wall will vomit up ten-foot gouts of flame. You try to imagine your life if you'd left him in that manse, and you can't. You just can't.

———

(1/7)