And you'll remember that your father is dead. Even if you bring him back, he will have been dead, and worse— forgotten. If you let the Wyrm hijack your mind, you'll forget him again. It'll be like he never existed at all. Like the world never existed. Like nothing you ever did mattered, ever could matter, compared to perfect unachievable bliss. Does that sound good to you?

No! It sounds horrible! It sounds like giving up. Yes, your life has been full of problems. Yes, you've been unhappy a lot of the time. Even when you've been happy, something usually comes along to undercut it. But hasn't something good come out of it all? When you lost the Crown, didn't it get Richard off your back? When Gil got shot, weren't you able to fix him, and didn't it bring you closer together? When you melted all those Headspace employees, didn't it give Ellery a purpose? When you found out your father was dead and your life was a lie— you wouldn't be here if you never found that out. You wouldn't be saving the world.

You can't think positive if everything's already going well. There's no point! So the Wyrm will never be able to overcome you! If you can hold that deep in your heart, you're certain you'll be able to—

"Kiddo?"

Somebody is leaning through the doorway to the parlor. You squint. "Henry?"

"Hey, that's Uncle Henry to you! Something got you brooding? You could light a lamp, at least."

"N— no, I just— you're not really here." You fold your arms, digging your nails into your skin. "You were with Claudia. I already—"

"Your cousin's a riot, isn't she? I spotted her outside. More to the point, your parents are looking for you. Would you put a pause on the brooding and go say hi?"

"I'm not... my parents?"

"Unless there's a scandal I don't know about, kiddo."

"...What about my aunt?"

"She's appointed herself in charge of putting coasters under all the stray drinks. She, quote, 'abhors' water rings." Henry is smiling. "I'm sure she'd be pleased to see you too, but c'mon. If you don't come, I'm telling them where you are, and then—"

"Okay! Fine. I'll say hello. But you know I don't—"

"You don't like parties? Best to get in and out while everyone's still reasonably sober, then. Need a hand?"

You sigh deeply, unfold your arms, and walk up to Henry, who proffers a hand and leads you into the parlor. Boy, it's packed: there's people on the settee, people in the chairs, people on the chairs, people standing around, a few on the ground, a bunch around the piano, which is being played vigorously. A woman is singing along. Your mother is— your mother is singing along.

She smiles when she spots you but carries on through the end, then pats the shoulder of the piano player. "Martin! We have company!"

(2/4)