Quoted By:
Yeah, yeah, you goddamn hypocrite, <span class="mu-i">you</span> hugged her while she was blubbering, but listen— that was whacked-out New Gil. You couldn't tell up from down, much less appropriate things to do to crying girls your age. Here you're of sound mind and (illusory) body, so you know full well this is bad, really bad— "Lottie?" you hiss. "Are you— aren't I-I-I— unmarried?"
She doesn't respond. She just hugs you. Where are your hands supposed to go? Are you supposed to be noticing that her jugs are pressed right up against your chest? Probably not, but how could you miss it? There's still time to kill yourself. This is exactly what you were afraid of, exactly—
Lottie lets go. She sits back. "...Where is this?"
"Uh," you say. "Your... mind...? I was down your throat, but I-I-I think I made a wrong—"
"...Down my...?"
"Nothing. Uh, lemme—" You swivel around and stare out at where you came from: a vast red ocean. There's no sky and no horizon, just an <span class="mu-i">eye,</span> yellow and unfathomably massive. It extends further than you can see in any direction.
It's <span class="mu-i">familiar.</span> "Wait," you say. "This is— this is your dream. You were dreaming, and I-I-I-I made a wrong turn—"
"You make a lot of wrong turns..."
"...I-I-I guess I do? I made a turn and I ended up <span class="mu-i">here.</span> With the eye, and the—" You're gesturing too much. "I-I-I guess this is the wrong-turn place? What is up with the <span class="mu-i">eye?</span>"
She shrugs.
Great. "Okay. Okay. We came from the ocean... um, don't go back in there, i-it's filled with... um..." You grasp for a descriptor. "...red stuff?"
Lottie's eyes widen. You stand, stepping down to the shoreline and waving your hand above the lapping waves: it glows every time it comes close. "See? We better get out of here— I-I-I think I kind of pissed it off—"
"...It's always like that." She folds her hands. "But yeah, I... yeah."
"I-I-It's <span class="mu-i">your</span> dream, isn't it? Or at least your mind? So you should be able to just—" You stop yourself from snapping your fingers, just in case something happens. "Well, yeah. Um, and things aren't going so great, so i-i-if you want to be snappy about it... ha-ha..."
You're saying all this, and it's all making sense. She's alive. She's lucid. <span class="mu-i">You're</span> alive and lucid, somehow, after a full-contact dip in murder juice— divine intervention again? There's no reason to press your luck. Get out of here, and you're home free.
Except something's missing. This wasn't the plan. Step 4) was to rescue Lottie. Step 4A) was to use the <span class="mu-i">blessing</span>— to expend it, to explode it out of you. All to (hopefully) vaporize the gunk in her. How have you managed to skip that? Lottie's here. Lottie's safe. But the stuff in her is, at best, temporarily distracted.
You're eight beetles. You only look like a guy. SUICIDE MISSION, the plan should've read.
(Choices next.)
