You fold your hands. "I just want it to be nice. I want to be happy. And I don't want to remember."

"Teddy wants good weather," Gil says. "He thought last time was a little gloomy."

WE CAN ACCOMMODATE
AS A FINAL NOTE —
THERE MAY BE OTHER GUESTS.
WE HAVE, PROVISIONALLY,
OPENED OURSELVES TO OUR
NEXT-DOOR NEIGHBORS,
AND VICE-VERSA
IT HAS BEEN GOOD
FOR BOTH OF US

"...As long as I don't see Ellery." You need to. Just not during this.

THAT CAN ALSO BE ARRANGED
IN THAT CASE
CHARLOTTE FAWKINS
GIL WALLACE
WE WISH YOU WHATEVER PEACE
WE CAN PROVIDE IN THIS TIME.
MAY THE WIND FILL YOUR—

You don't hear the last part, because the amphitheater sinks and swallows you, and you grip Gil's wrist and know nothing.

———

It's difficult to piece together what occurred, even when you and Gil compare notes later. You might've spent five or six days inside— whether Us sped things up on your behalf, or whether confluence with Headspace made a difference, you have no idea. You were in your own bodies, sort of. Gil was human. You didn't have a tail. Gil is pretty sure he was still a mechanic, and you were... you're not sure what you did. You might've been in schooling. You might've had a little business selling pottery, or it was only your hobby, else.

The weather was excellent. There was a beach. There were cocktails. Gil got drunk in there the normal way, not the freaky instant way. You knew each other already, though less well than in real life— only acquaintances. You remember that because Gil introduced you to Teddy, and Teddy shook your hand and said, to Gil, "So she's real, then?"

You weren't real, and neither was he, and neither was Gil, and it's odd, looking back, that you spent the time getting to know someone you knew well. You spent all your time with him, on the beach and in the city, and you were happy. On the final night you went to sleep and never woke.

Or, you didn't, but you did: on the ground, on your stomach, in an amphitheater, twenty thousand eyes watching. You were confused and frightened and thought you'd continue lying there. To not attract attention.

CHARLOTTE FAWKINS

This didn't work.

SHAKE YOURSELF FROM YOUR STUPOR
WYRM-DAUGHTER
YOUR FRIEND WILL COME NEXT.
WAS YOUR TIME ACCEPTABLE?

"I..." You're on your stomach for a reason. There is something preventing you from rolling over. When you feel your head, something hard pokes from it. And from your back. You appear to have a tail.

Oh. Okay. You cast your mind back and find a pleasant soup where your memories should be. Is that acceptable? You guess it fulfilled your requirements. "...Yeah. Gil's not out yet?"

DO NOT FEAR US KEEPING HIM —
HE IS NOT INTEGRATED LIKE HE WAS
WE THOUGHT PRIVACY WAS IMPORTANT
DUE TO THE NATURE OF THE TOPIC.

"The topic." You sit up. "Which is?"

AS YOU INDICATED, YOUR PRESENCE
WITHIN US ALLOWED US TO UNDERSTAND
YOUR CURRENT PREOCCUPATION
CONSIDERING ITS RELEVANCE TO US,
WE THOUGHT THAT WE MIGHT BE USEFUL —
AS EACH AND EVERY ONE OF US HAS DIED

(5/6)