The Flower That Bloomed Nowhere

What did I see, behind that door?

I'd like to leave off answering that for a little bit.

I know, I know, it's awkward. But at this point, there was still something about Dilmun... and many of my classmates, for that matter... that I'd failed to understand. As strange as I'd been finding it, I'd fallen - over the course of the day previous - into treating it almost like any other community of individuals, just one that happened to have a few unsettling quirks. I don't think that was wholly my fault; the only person I'd spoken to extensively at this point was Ptolema, who though I was too stupid to fully realize it, was doing rather a lot of work to save me from having to deal with too much at once.

In that moment, though, I saw something that wrought a crack in my ignorance.

If I tell you about it now, though, I think you'll get the wrong idea about things. So I'd like to skip ahead a bit.

Before that, though... I have to wonder, what do you think of me, at this point?

At the risk of beating a dead horse, I must seem pretty pathetic.

There's no getting away from it. Back during the conclave, even though I was still a self-pitying idiot with an obsession that was really more about deluding myself into thinking I was a good person than its - futile - ostensible goal, I was still fighting for something more than myself.

And I wasn't alone. I had Ran by my side, through thick and thin.

Though I couldn't appreciate it at the time, there had almost been something romantic about it all. Don't you think? The two of us, against impossible odds. It was strange how the passage of time could make things that once felt ugly feel so beautiful.

Compared to then, my behavior now was more reminiscent of a wild beast, or maybe something even something fictitious that was even lesser than that, like a zombie. I was surrounded by all these things that should have provoked massive questions, both essential and existential, and all I could think about was survival and perpetuating the empty life I'd settled into. Did I have any concrete thoughts about what I might want to do after that? Fuck no.

I mean, come on. Isn't that nuts? I bet just hearing all this crap about Dilmun is giving you all sorts of ideas about what you'd want to do or what might be possible in such a place. You could build a floating palace and then blow it up, or see what it's like to be a giant octopus! You could spend all the time in the world working on an artistic project of your dreams! And - though I'm not really into that sort of thing - the orgies had to be amazing!

To respond the way I was responding... well, it's almost inhuman, isn't it?

I think I'd stopped being a human a long time ago. I'd been alone - if not materially than spiritually - for so, so long, something vital in the depths of my soul had rotted away. Nothing reached me any more except the fear. If the events I'm describing now seem dreamlike, then perhaps that's less about their content and more a product of the fact I, myself, experienced reality as more of a waking dream.

Have you ever talked to, or at least heard a recounting from, someone who's been deep in an abusive relationship? That's mostly a rhetorical question; it's one of those stories that's so depressingly universal it becomes hard to avoid. Not counting a speech I remembered someone coming in to give at Shiko's secondary school, my first experience with it was a woman I treated the broken hand of while performing voluntary healing as part of my training at the House of Resurrection. I still remember how she flinched when I touched her.

Other than the threat of physical violence, the primary way that an abuser will exert control over their victim is through the shrinking of their world. Encourage someone to leave their job, limit contact to with friends and family, demean and cut them off from their interests... and they'll start to shrink on the inside, too. To lose the ability to even imagine something better, thinking only of how to last to the next lamprise.

It feels vulgar to even make the comparison between my situation and something like that, but at some point I'd started to wonder if I'd somehow done the same thing to myself. Made myself alone for so long and avoided everything that stirred my heart for such a time that it had gone into a sort of torpor.

The Order had framed the desire to merely survive as such a grand and noble goal, and there were times when I almost bought into that idea. But really - and I say this in as much a value-neutral capacity as I can, mind - it's the most base goal imaginable. And in pursuing it, regardless of the context, you find yourself becoming small. Mutable.

Maybe that's why I didn't think to question any of this. About the story which was being quickly woven for me.

...

Sorry, I don't mean to ramble. It's just interesting to consider, in retrospect.

Anyway. Let's skip ahead a little bit to that evening, about nine hours later, after I was done processing things.

I followed the instructions I'd been given very carefully. First, I made a Domain for myself alone. The process for this turned out to be incredibly simple; all I had to do was revert to the Stage, walk to an isolated 'space', then focus on myself in the same way I did with the group to get into the Crossroads. Then, within a few moments, I had an even closer repeat of that experience. Once again, I was on that small island floating in the amber-colored abyss, facing that strange, octagonal structure, though this time around I'd appeared at the front instead of the rear, the brick path and dark metal door directly before me.

Unguarded this time, of course.

Certainly it was a strange building - windowless, erected of dark and inhospitable granite that would normally be considered ill-fitting for any sort of residential structure - but I must confess, when I'd seen it the first time around, I'd felt it to be the least ominous aspect of my surroundings. Yet looking at it this time, however, it seemed to give off a foreboding, almost threatening aura that made me hesitate for several moments before proceeding. Perhaps that's testament to how impressionable a person I truly am; all it took was for something to be defined as forbidden and to hear a couple of ghost stories for me to start feeling like a child sneaking out of their room in the middle of the night, peering into the darkness of the edge of the stairwell.

Still, even if I had no reasonable clue how much time I had, there was no sense in wasting any. So quickly, I steeled myself and stepped under the overhang towards the door.

It was lighter than I expected, swinging inward easily as if the metal was completely hollow, though it didn't feel that way as my knuckles brushed against it. Beyond, I would see a very plain looking hallway with homely, wooden furniture that reminded me of my grandmother's house back in Itan.

I glanced backwards, hesitating for another moment. If the inside is separated from the normal flow of time here, how does it work right now, with me in the threshold? If I'd invited a witness, what would they be seeing right now?

Stop navel-gazing as an excuse to not go inside, what passed for my resolve said. You're not fooling anyone.

I sighed, then stepped forward and closed the door behind me.

I could tell when it happened. It wasn't anything spectacular like a rush of air or a thundering ka-thump as the latch slid back into place, but there was definitely some sort of change or moment of discernible transition. Maybe it was the pressure, or perhaps the heat - I would guess that the 'default' temperature for Dilmun was about an even 20c, while this place was obviously a fair bit warmer - or most likely there was some paranatural component to it that my mind had picked up on in a way I couldn't easily put into words.

Regardless, I could tell-- I was now completely cut off from the outside world. Based on the what Bardiya had told me, you couldn't even access the Stage or observe the rest of the universe from here.

A world made up of closed circles...

I'd already been told what to expect, and even shown a map of sorts, so technically there was nothing stopping me from proceeding directly to my destination. But I decided to take a look around anyway. The layout of the building was almost obscenely simple; four rooms, in each of the cardinal directions, of roughly utilitarian purpose. A bedroom, a bathroom, a combination lounge and dining room, and a kitchen. The latter turned out to be stocked with quite a number of - admittedly rather simple - ingredients; potatoes, jam, honey, salted duck, that sort of thing. I tried a little of the jam using my finger, which seemed... fine.

Truth be told, I'm not even sure I retained the taste; I was too distracted by how spooky everything here was. And it was spooky, even though the rustic furnishings were obviously engineered to cultivate a calming impression. The total absence of windows was much more dissonant here on the inside than the out, where the rooms were otherwise normal, and though the place looked like some old-fashioned house, it didn't feel like one, if that makes sense. None of the floorboards or doors creaked, and there was no dust to be found. It was like the entire thing had been built just prior to my arrival.

A question nagged on my mind as I explored which had been lingering since I'd first heard the term. Why was it called the 'Manse'?

Despite the similarity to the word 'mansion', manse was actually a pretty specific term: It meant a house adjacent to a temple or church, usually serving as a dwelling for a priest. In theory, these were supposed to be humble dwellings - piety in moderation and all that Principist doctrine - but because religious institutions tend to attract wealth, they sometimes became somewhat grand estates.

...or, uh, so I understand. I don't go to a lot of temples.

Anyway, the point is, while this interior definitely wasn't wholly incompatible with the kind of imagery the word conjured up, it didn't exactly evoke it, either. I didn't see any iconography or architectural flourishes I would have associated with religion.

So where did people get the word from? It was curious.

It didn't take me long to tour the rooms; there were apparently some smaller details of them that had been rigorously catalogued by 'enthusiasts' in the past, but I didn't want to make an extended visit. So finally, I stopped putting off what I'd come here to do.

The last door doubled up with the lavatory in being on the far wall from the entryway, and was also the only set of double doors, clearly indicating it as possessing some special status. If I were cool, they would have been perfect to fling open dramatically with some sort of I'm-going-to-solve-this expression of determination, but of course the most I could muster was to open one side trepidatiously.

Somehow, the room beyond managed to be spookier still despite the fact that, to my surprise, it did have windows. It was far larger than the others - larger, even, then the rest of the Manse put together, to the point that it completely broke any sense of continuity with the external structure - and continued almost nothing but bookshelves, arranged in four orderly rows. The windows emitted an eerie, constant light reminiscent of the Lesser Lamp, but much of the room was unlit compared to the rest of the building, the corners of the aisles cloaked in deep shadow.

I bit my lip. It's fine. I'm literally ten steps from the door.

I'll check it out, get a little first-hand understanding, then get out of here.

No problem.

I stepped inside and approached the nearest shelf. It was filled with a tremendous number of thin, black-covered books. I grabbed one at random, then - staying close enough to the entrance that I could read by the lamplight of the central hall - I flipped through it.

The Fool ran down the hallway. The Hierophant pursued them.

The Hierophant shot at the Fool, striking their leg.

"Fool, stop," the High Priestess spoke.

The Fool crawled out of sight, and the Hierophant followed. However, upon rounding the corner, they were gone. There was no bloodstain.

"What happened?" the High Priestess asked, catching up.

"I do not know," the Hierophant said.

"They must have used a trick to hide," the Moon said. "They can't have escaped yet."

"Yes," the High Priestess said. "You two should guard the doors. I will look for them."

I frowned uneasily, skipping to an earlier page.

"I believe that Justice has bad intentions," Wheel of Fortune said to Death, quietly.

"Please elaborate," Death said.

"I saw her speaking about Third Motivation with the Fool in the 2nd room of the 1st building's 2nd floor," he said. "I think she intends to steal The Artifact."

"That is speculation," Death said. "Justice would not do that."

"You do not know Justice, not truly," Wheel of Fortune said.

All of it was like this, from cover to cover. Again, I'd been told what to expect, but... it really was inscrutable in a way that words failed to convey. To even call it a narrative felt charitable; a logic engine script could write better fiction. The text seemed to use abstract labels to define not just the characters, but everything by reference rather than the description. The result was utterly tedious to read at best, and at worst almost incomprehensible; there were exchanges, like that last one sometimes even worse, where I basically had no clue whatsoever what was going on.

That said, it wasn't hard, at least, to discern that it followed the structure of a murder mystery, though it seemed to start in the middle; there were no introductions between the characters, and the deaths seemed to be in full swing after the first 20 or so pages. From there, it followed the standard pattern: Some kind of problem would come up, a body would ultimately be discovered, and the characters would discuss it. Standard stuff.

Well, I say 'characters', but of course, the majority of those of us who still remained in correspondence in Dilmun had largely drawn the conclusion that these books were about us.

It all lined up neatly with what I'd heard from the Lady. We had been trapped in her reenactment due to the need for her to fulfill those conditions imposed by the Apega: That the weekend must go according to plan, and that anyone who acts to disrupt it must be exposed. Those conditions were never met.

Ergo, this place remained as a kind of wound, a macabre archive of those tragic 3 days repeated again and again. Still awaiting a solution. Fulfillment.

I hadn't questioned it. I'd only come here to see for myself - if only briefly - before moving ahead with my plan, just to make sure there was nothing I'd misunderstood.

Actually reading these books, though, I couldn't help but feel a flicker of doubt. I admittedly wasn't doing the closest read, but still, I struggled to get any inkling of familiarity from these texts whatsoever. I couldn't read between the lines enough to discern anything about the locations of the true substance of the discussions or even the locations - I suppose I could probably have worked out if the '1st building' was the abbey, headquarters or research tower if I analyzed how high the numbers went, though it also listed a '4th building' on one occasion that made me wonder exactly how the term was being applies - nor could I recognize any of our traits and dynamics in any of the characters. It was all too dry. Dry as a bone.

Even the numbers only seemed to line up roughly. There were 22 characters, but hadn't there been 23 people at the sanctuary? Did Samium not count, or something?

The names were strange, too. He'd briefly mentioned that they corresponded to tarot cards, before telling me this detail wasn't consequential.

What on earth was a 'tarot card'?

Still, there was no room in my heart for doubt. I skimmed a couple more books, enough to feel confident I grasped their nature on at least a basic level; that they were as they'd been described to me. Then walked a little deeper into the chamber, coming to the table I'd been told was at the center. I read the 'test' printed there on the fine parchment. Then I quickly turned to leave.

As I did, though...

I thought I saw something in the corner of my eye. A white shape, skirting along the far wall. Briefly enough that it could just have been my mind misinterpreting the movement of my shadow.

My heart started to race. I looked, but there was nothing.

I fled to the exit.

𒀭

I'm sure you've been wondering what happened with Ran and I. It's probably transparent that I've been avoiding the subject.

I wish there was an exciting story to tell about it.

I'll say this much. Do you remember how I mentioned before how the last time I felt I could have achieved some form of salvation was in that coffee shop, where Ran had first confronted me about stealing Shiko's identity? Where I'd made the decision not to use the event - which I'd provoked - to genuinely confess and atone, but instead to lie to her and make her an accessory to my delusion, ultimately wasting 10 years of her life?

Though it had felt like such a small thing at the time, I'd come to see that the Friday after the conclave, where we'd walked to the station together, as another turning point of the same nature. A third and final chance.

It played out in my mind almost every night as I was trying to sleep, and the garbage I'd compacted in my mind through escapism started to bubble up to the surface.

"See you tomorrow."

"Yeah. Take care."

"...R-Ran."

"What is it?"

"...uh, never mind."

What would have happened, if I'd had the strength to see things through?

"See you tomorrow."

"Yeah. Take care."

"...R-Ran."

"What is it?"

"...uh, never mind."

The expectant, tired look in her eyes as she stood shadowed under the oak tree. The sweat I felt on my palms, and the way my heart almost skipped, like I was trying to drive a knife through my own finger. The distance between us that seemed to grow even within the moment, the voices from the nearby station seeming to rise higher and higher. Even though there was no chance the past two centuries hadn't distorted it, it felt so visceral, so real. More real than reality.

I often thought about it in reference to what happened the last night at the conclave, too. When Ran had held me in her arms and begged for me to live. Where she'd told me it wouldn't even matter if I had killed Utsushikome of Fusai.

I felt like I practically had theological-level debates with myself over that moment. What had she meant? There were so many ways you could take it. In context, since we were talking about my identity in relation to Shiko, the most logical interpretation seemed to be that she was just saying 'it doesn't matter if nothing of her is left in you, even if I think there is', with 'killed' merely referring to my intrusion in her mind through Induction, rather than being a matter of intent.

But what if she hadn't meant it that way? What if I'd misunderstood, and she'd guessed the truth long ago? What if she'd truly seen me, and was still willing to forgive me for everything... and I'd just been too stupid to notice?

To see a hand reached into the dark cell I'd confined myself in?

If I allowed it, all the ways it could have played out danced in my mind. Her face wrought with anger. Betrayal. Confusion. Acceptance. Relief. I saw worlds where she struck me in the face and never spoke to me again; worlds where animosity erupted in the moment but was later forgiven; worlds where our relationship lingered on like a painful ghost, and worlds where it blossomed. Worlds where I was forgiven, or she sighed, or even laughed, and where the weight that had borne down on me for so long was lifted in a moment. Worlds where we were the worst of enemies, and worlds where we were the closest of friends, or - in my more indulgent moments - more than friends.

Worlds where I transformed within, in the way I thought I would when I became Utsushikome of Fusai all those years ago. Where the world burned with such a violent beauty that it was paralyzing. Where everything we did was an adventure as grand as the journey to the edge of the Mimikos had been in my mind.

All snuffed out, damned, extinguished, in the moment of that choice. Traded to appease my fucking cowardice.

To think about it felt like falling. So I didn't, for years and years and years. Until I'd almost forgotten how. Until I could only feel a flicker, even faced with this miracle where we could finally meet again.

But could we really? Whatever Ran existed in this world wasn't my Ran, after all. The Ran who had finally left me behind as I'd chosen to lie down in the dirt. Or - I dared to both hope and dread - had always been waiting for me until it was too late. She'd be like this Ptolema. Frozen forever in this moment in time, like the flecks of a snowglobe, stirring and shifting, yet never escaping.

But even so, if I could just see the end of that moment... see what appeared on her face...

Would that be enough?

𒀭

This is an absolutely dreadful idea, I thought to myself.

I know I say that every time. But this one is really incoherent.

CHORUS: You will be received, but please understand that Our Lady is currently taking her evening tea. You are expected to behave with the appropriate decorum.

"I, uh, understand," I said, not having any clue how this distinguished the situation from last time.

I steeled myself as Aruru, as cold and frightening as ever, once again pushed the grand doors wide and let me through. The Loge was as I'd left it in the morning; long table, balcony, observable universe off the edge. Her Ladyship was still sat at the far end, now with a teacup in her hand. It had a kitschy little pattern along the rim that, though I wouldn't realize this until later in the conversation, was supposed to be a group of skeletons dancing.

"Oh my," she said, raising an eyebrow as I entered. "You're certainly back sooner than I expected." She sighed and shook her head, though her lips betrayed a hint of sardonic amusement. "I hope you're not going to be one of those neighbors who takes an open invitation as an excuse to turn up every other day. I do like you, but that would get tedious rather quickly."

I took a deep breath, puffing myself up as much as I could.

"I want to ask you for a favor," I said, my tone stiff but firm.

Her single eye stared at me in confusion for a moment. Then, she burst out laughing, having to lower her teacup to avoid spilling it as she leaned back in her chair.

"A favor?" she asked, incredulous. "Girl, you only just turned up at my doorstep not 18 hours ago!" She gestured her palm forward. "Why don't you sit down and join me? I'll have my Chorus get something for you."

Aruru, having navigated to the rear of the balcony upon my arrival, was now attending to a silver tray bearing a teapot, some more cups, and what looked like a small selection of liqueurs. Evidently, the concept of 'evening tea' was approached rather loosely here.

What are you saying? She's some kind of higher being, remember. She obviously doesn't drink anything at all.

Any visual component to all this is probably just to mess with you.

I ignored the offer. "I've been to the Manse," I told her.

She snorted. "Have you, now?"

"I-I presume that's what you meant when you said that there were still unfinished parts of the loop in this world," I told her. "That those books are some sort of abstract remnants of what happened."

"I couldn't possibly comment," she said, sipping from her cup daintily.

"The people here have a myth, apparently," I continued, "that whoever solves the problem in the Manse will attain some sort of power over this world-- To change the status quo. It seems to be taboo, and that's... probably why. Because change also brings the possibility of harm."

I mumbled the last word. Even in the strange mental state I was presently in, it felt stupid to present hearsay as some sort of deduction.

"Is that so?" She hummed thoughtfully. "I'll have to take your word for it. To be honest, I haven't been making much of an effort to keep abreast of the local culture of late." She stared at me. "I hope you're building to some sort of point, with this?"

I swallowed the air, hesitating. "You were commanded by the Apega to build this world according to the designs of the Order, but were never able to finish that task completely, because we failed to meet those conditions. But if you could... That is, if those conditions were cleared... presumably, more change would be possible."

She swirled the liquid, regarding me with a curious frown.

"My guess is that this is the origin of those rumors," I concluded. "Your will was engineered to be controlled by someone else - the 'proxy'. So whoever solves the Manse would take on that role."

"An aspirational inference, it must be said," she stated coyly. "For even assuming your other presumptions are correct, as I explained earlier, the Order's proxy was only intended to dictate terms at the point of initial contact with me, not to play tyrant, coming and going as they please." She leaned back a little, taking another sip. "Certainly this situation is beyond what they envisioned, but still, how do you know clearing things up wouldn't simply free me to finish things up according to my original intentions?"

"I--" I hesitated. "I... suppose I don't."

She chuckled to herself. "You're going about this in a rather half-baked way. I told you to return if you had anything interesting to contribute, yet you've rushed back here with scarcely any new information to speak of."

"Can you just confirm whether it's true or not?" I asked, terse. "Will solving the Manse give someone that power?"

She shrugged. "How should I know? I understand it's something the people of this plane have been contemplating for time immemorial. Ancient mysteries are usually 'ancient' and 'mysterious' for a reason."

"You created this reality," I reminded her. "You must know."

"When one loses one's footing carrying a bucket of water, they can hardly be expected to keep abreast of every single drop." She rolled her eyes. "Let me try to trace your thought process, here. You're here because you think solving the Manse will allow you to alter your unique condition here, right?"

I frowned. My initial force of will was already starting to drain away, and my face was flushing with embarrassment, not to mention renewed cognizance of the madness of the entire situation. "...well, yes."

"You can't have even heard of the Manse more than a day or so ago," she stated, her tone now almost sympathetic. "Don't you think you're rushing things a bit? Or, well, a lot?"

She was entirely right. I was rushing things.

But the same panic had gripped me which had driven me to the Empyrean Bastion in the first place. Part of me was desperate to just sit back and process everything I'd experienced in the past 24 hours, but the greater portion of my psyche had been driven into a sort of desperate panic. If I wasn't acting in a way to fix the problem, I felt like I'd fall apart.

"...please, just tell me," I pleaded. "Is it possible? Even if I've misunderstood how the Manse works, then somehow?"

She glanced to the side for a moment, let out a long sigh, her cosmic hair billowing overdramatically as she brushed her fingers through it. "Sure," she said wearily. "While I can't speak as to its broader nature, it would at least be possible to use the Manse to 'fix' your problem, making the same as everyone else in this world. I can confirm that much."

It was ridiculous, but instantly, I once again felt that overwhelming, almost all-encompassing sense of relief. I had a chance. Even if it was impossibly remote, and I didn't even really know the nature of what I'd need to accomplish to realize it, it was there.

Like I said. I was thinking more like an animal than a person; sealed within the present moment.

She smirked, seemingly amused by this response. "You really aren't a very subtle person."

I let out a self-conscious snort, quickly coming back to earth, and furrowed my brow at her.

"Yet even having presumed that correctly," she continued, narrowing her eyes, "why would that information bring you to me? If you want to solve the Manse, then you can just get in there and have a crack at it. I'm told there's a nice little sheet for you to fill out and everything; very intuitive."

I glanced downwards for a moment, gathering my thoughts. This part was the real shot in the dark.

"...you gave me an open invitation to come back here, and went out of your way to explain my situation even if there was no real reason for you to do so," I said. "The only reason I can think for you to do that... is because you want something from me."

"What, you're not satisfied with the idea that I did it out of genuine sympathy for your predicament?"

"No," I stated. "I mean... you haven't exactly come across as otherwise concerned for my feelings."

She lowered her cup down to its dish, peering at me analytically. "This is where the 'favor' comes in, I assume."

"I heard," I went on, "that you like games."

She raised her eyebrows in amusement. "Games? However did you get that impression?"

"The folklore that people here have about you," I told her. "And more than that, the way you acted earlier. I still don't know what exactly you meant earlier when you were talking about my role, but you said you enjoyed the way the conclave apparently turned out, with us all struggling like mice in a maze."

"Interesting." She dipped the forefinger of her ungloved hand into the teacup, idly stirring the fluid as she looked down into the waters. "Well, that's the stereotype, isn't it? In the stories, death always likes to give people a chance to avert their fate. A game of dice, chess... all sorts of absurd little pastimes." She drew the finger upwards, licking its edge. "I am a creature of mimicry, as I told you. It is my nature that I cannot help but meet people's expectations to a certain degree."

"From what I've heard, people have been trying to solve the Manse for as long as Dilmun has existed," I said. "...but no one's managed it, and I can see why. I don't know whether you set it up that way on purpose to avoid the pot getting stirred or, like you're claiming, it just happened, but figuring out the truth so comprehensively just from those books... it has to be impossible."

"Impossible by the standards of human patience, perhaps," she said. "But again, I wouldn't know for sure. I haven't been in there."

"But if the Manse really does reflect what happened while we were trapped with you... then we're not like everyone else," I told her. "I'm not like everyone else. I was there. So, at least theoretically, it's possible I could decipher what the individual characters and events mean from the loop I remember. To 'break the code'. Right?"

"I at least can't see any faults within that line of reasoning," she stated. She paused for a minute to stir her cup, once again taking a sip. "So what exactly do you want from me, then?"

"I--" I paused. This whole idea seemed so flimsy now that I was actually going for it. "...the problem is, even if I could solve it, the very fact I'm in this situation that's made me want to in the first place... means I probably don't have enough time. Especially since you only get one try." I swallowed. "So... I want you to help me."

She scoffed, lowering her brow. "To help you? To make it even easier for you, you mean?" She shook her head. "That sounds less like a game and more like just helping you cheat. Not very compelling."

"I didn't say I want you to do it for nothing," I spoke firmly. "...you're bored here, aren't you? You brought humans to this world, but you couldn't do it on the terms you wanted. And now all you - all this part of you, I mean - can do is sit around, watching them creating and breaking things. For an eternity."

"That's not much of a deduction," she spoke dryly. "I more or less told you that earlier today."

"But my situation means I'm exception to that," I continued. "I have something unique in this whole world. Something to lose."

It was subtle, but something in her face grew a little more serious. She stared at me with a pointed gaze.

"Something I could bet," I finished.

The balcony fell into silence for a few moments. Aruru, apparently having finished attending to the items on the tray, lifted it up effortlessly in one hand and carried it to my end of the table, setting it down adjacent to the chair. It looked at me expectantly.

"...you really are being a little too eager," The Lady said, her face relaxing a little once more. "Really, why don't you sit down and have some tea, at least? You're not in that much of a rush. Let's have a discussion like civilized people."

I hesitated as I looked towards the dark blue seat, my legs feeling peculiarly rigid. I felt like if I let myself relax in this situation for even a moment, all my confidence would spill out like I was a punctured balloon.

"Oh, come on," she said. "I promise I won't be so mean to you this time. I'll even instruct Aruru not to make any creepy faces."

I frowned. I'm less worried about that and more about her throwing me off the balcony again, honestly.

"...fine," I relented.

I stepped over to the armchair and lowered myself into its embrace once more. I'd been too overwhelmed to notice last time, but it was actually rather comfortable, in spite of the surface feeling so chilly. If I were wearing a nice wool robe, it might even feel pretty cozy.

"There you go." She shook her head. "Honestly, if your pace is taking even me off-guard, you really ought to be a little concerned."

I bit my lip. "I know I might seem hung up on this point, but how can anything 'take you off-guard'?" I squinted at her. "Don't you know everything that's going to happen?"

"Under some circumstances," she said. "It's a little more... complicated, when it comes to people's minds. Especially when they're residents of this realm."

I frowned at her skeptically. For a goddess, half the things she says come across as remarkably sketchy.

Aruru placed a dish and teacup in front of me and began pouring some tea. She added my preference - both milk and sugar - without asking. Unsettling.

She stepped back once it was done, and I sipped it. It seemed to be a type of lemon tea, which was on the upper end of my tea spectrum-- Which was to say that I didn't hate it completely. I set it back down while the woman across from me took another sip herself, closing her visible eye in a sort of savoring-the-moment affect.

"Now then," she started. "To begin with, are you even sure this is really what you desire?"

"Yes," I told her. "I don't want to die."

"Most don't," she said. "But to be fair, eternity is quite a serious proposition as well. In all seriousness, as much as I was playing up the drama of the moment earlier, the people here didn't get a choice about their situation. Many of them were quite upset at first, and some lament it extremely gravely to this day." She pointed vaguely in the direction of my chest with a gloved finger. "Whatever your regrets, that hourglass of yours probably has enough time in it to attend to a good chunk of them. Life moves slowly here, after all, immortality or not. Some would call it the best of both worlds."

"If that's true," I told her, "then tell me how much time I have left," I demanded.

She made a pensive expression, pursing her lips. "Like I said, a while," she reiterated. "Enough that you could make a crack at the Manse yourself even without my help, I'm sure."

"You can't-- You can't start acting concerned for me and then be so vague," I chided her. "I don't understand your attitude."

She hummed, the sound deep and rich, like the rumble of a distant voidship. "I suppose that's fair. I've been being a little unfair with you, truth be told. It's amusing, but perhaps... inopportune, considering the circumstances." She leveled her gaze. "Still, you should really be taking this more seriously. To speak about gambling away your life around a being like myself, for something that for all you know could be wholly futile-- Well, it's more than a little reckless."

"I know it's reckless," I said stubbornly. "But I don't have any other options. I don't want to die."

"Don't you? Not have any other options, I mean?" She raised her cup to her lips once more, leaning forward. "Come now. Do you even have a specific idea of what you want from me? Or are you making a complete shot in the dark?"

My eyes fell down the teacup. "I... suppose I thought I could barter for information, maybe. About the... loops..." I trailed off, feeling more and more foolish. "You summoned up scenes from them when I was here earlier, so you must be able to remember them. Or, well, whatever 'remember' means to something like you."

"Dear, dear. This is just no good at all." She shook her head. "I can't be dealing with you when you're like this. I thought it would be fun to have you figure out the rules of this place from scratch again, but instead of lighting a fire under your ass, it seems I've gone and scorched your panties right off."

I grimaced. "...is that a vulgar way of saying you won't help?"

"I didn't say that," she corrected me. "But I do think it's a little premature to be talking about playing any games."

I frowned anxiously. This really wasn't going the way I envisioned. Why had her tone changed so much since the first meeting?

This morning, she'd felt like a predator-- Like a tiger circling an injured deer, amusing itself as it thrashed about before going in for the kill.

But now she felt... well, not normal, but increasingly mild. Sympathetic. Her domineering attitude coming across as almost having a motherly note.

It made me even more tense than before.

The Lady seemed to consider something, her gaze wandering off the edge of the balcony for several moments. Eventually, she seemed to come to some decision, glancing towards me. "...alright. It's a bit of a shame, but I suppose I can be more direct." She pursed her lip. "You asked me why I called you the 'detective' earlier, did you not?"

"Y-Yeah," I said stiffly. "I assume it's... something to do with whatever happened in the loops.

"I can see why you'd think as much... but not exactly," she said, raising her eyebrow. "But first - while we have our tea - I'd like to show you something. Call it a little evening entertainment, if you like. Nothing serious."

Her tone was even milder now-- Almost bordering on trepidation. It was eerie to hear it all of a sudden, coming out in her booming voice.

I bit my lip. "...what did you have in mind?"

She glanced to the side, the opposite direction of where Aruru usually stood. "...Playwright."

Suddenly, where she'd been staring, a new figure peeled out of the shadows. A woman who, once again, I quickly realized was something more than merely human. Short and with a delicate face, she had a bob of blonde hair cut sharply at her chin, and was dressed for a ball in a strangely-designed, pale gold dress. But like the man I'd seen earlier, her eyes seemed less like eyes and more like portals, though in her case what laid beyond was shimmering pale violet so bright it felt as though it illuminated her features, arcs of sheer white at the periphery forming almost a faux-iris; neutron stars.

In stark contrast to him, however, she was smiling eagerly, clapping her hands together excitedly as soon as she appeared.

PLAYWRIGHT: Ah, Your Ladyship! How may I be of... Oh.

"Bring it out," the Lady instructed coldly. "The recording."