“When I end up being proven right about this, you owe me three crates of champagne!” I called down the stairs. I felt comforted by that. Finally, something coming out of my mouth that was more believably me.
Arkady was not amused. “That’s what I’m fucking talking about!” I heard him snap back from the kitchen.
I loved the inworld. I didn’t fully understand it, nor did I interact with anyone as much as watched over them. All of them, Xanthe included, felt at once what I was and what I never could be. Such glorious personalities– a smattering of gods and monsters and both, and I loved them them all.
When you try for a break-up and all you get is a sanity-shattering existential crisis.
But in this particular day, when Avery hadn’t responded to any of my texts, I happened to notice what their last status update was:
“Either I will fix this body or I will destroy it.”
That’s not a good sign.
That’s when April pretended to be struct blind, because of course she did.
Comparing and contrasting March with my troubles with April; the official birth of Gaslamp.
That’s when Arkady had dropped the bombshell. “[Ash] believes they’re March’s dead twin,” I’d seen March talk about his twin before. I’d seen posts about how this beloved sibling had died of an overdose at the ripe young age of 15– in some posts, 16. In one post, 17. There were no photos, no documents, no proof that the story itself had existed prior to 2018. But I didn’t know that then.
“I wish I could just switch and let someone else handle my problems for a bit.” Well, I don’t know how to do that on command. “Well, yeah, your alters are useless.” … Thanks.
But to understand how much he disgusts me, I must paint you a portrait of what he took from me.
I’m not sure if Nebula was the host. I’m not even certain if there is a host. I […]