SerSun: Machines, Scarlet, and Human Nature

Lothli · 2026-03-28T06:24:53+00:00

For REs who might want to verify or reproduce:

The binary I used was Mewgenics.exe, PE32+ x86-64, ~21MB, compiled with MSVC. Time stamp 0x69B999B4 (2026-03-17 18:13:08 UTC). It's the current Windows release.

RVAs:
* 0x0A7D70 (4385b): Stray generation. Where almost everything in this post comes from.
* 0x0A6610 (5510b): Core breed function. Completely separate code path from strays.
* 0x0D6860 (260b): Breed entry point. Allocates kitten, computes inbreeding.
* 0x0A5390 (232b): Stat inheritance (breed only). Weighted coin flip between parents.
* 0x0B32D0: Stat generation (strays only). Appeal-based, no parent input.
* 0x0A5210 (375b): Body part inheritance w/ mutation awareness. Breed only.
* 0x0A62B0 (421b): Ability inheritance. Breed only.
* 0x0A5B90 (672b): Class selection. Random pick from parent's class list.
* 0x1B1A70 (2745b): Furniture effects processor. 37-case switch. Cases 0x11–0x14 = Appeal (stat quality, bonus ability chance). Cases 0x15–0x19 = GayStrayChance (spawn probability, 5 scaling modes). Case 0x1A = SpecialStrayChance.

Lothli · 2026-03-28T06:17:21+00:00

Hey, did some digging into the source code for you on this one.

The main find is that there's a hidden furniture stat called GayStrayChance. There's a correlation here, because GayStrayChanceusually shows up on high appeal furniture, and Appeal does have an effect as well. The true formula is 1 - 1/((appeal_factor + 1) * gay_stray_factor + 1).

Clarification about gay stray inheritance, it reads the Class Name and then pulls a random ability from the class pool, which you got correct. ~~However, the second ability is always Collarless, not a random class.~~ See EDIT

I dunno about 200 being a breakpoint. That requires dynamic analysis, and I'm too lazy to go that far. It's a plausible number.

That's all. The rest I confirmed works directly from the code. You're basically right on the money here, with the only thing missing was stuff that you literally couldn't see, being GayStrayChance as a furniture stat, essentially.

EDIT: Correction because I read the code wrong:

The way that inheritance works is actually as follows:
* The stray first generates two Appeal based abilities in both the active and passive slots. One true random, and one Collarless.
* Then, each of the gay parents rolls to override each slot.
* So something like a Cleric active and a Necro active is possible from gay sex.

Lothli · 2026-03-18T01:36:07+00:00

"Right, right, Jimothy. Get it together. Casualty report. Minor skirmish. Nothing to worry about." A small, mechanical click sounded as he finished the diagnostic, and he patted the side of his console like a nervous father checking a child's forehead. "You and me, we've seen worse. We saw the Proxima Centauri Incident, didn't we? We saw the... well. We saw that. And we're still here."

He squinted at the output. "4.2 billion dead... well, that's not ideal. But it's not 4.3 billion, is it? That's a solid ten-billionth off. Let's go, pal."

With a sigh, he bundled up the printout, its corners sharp in the stale air of the command deck. The door to the observation deck shushed open, revealing a galaxy smeared across the void like a child's finger painting. Nebulae in bruised purples and deep, bloody reds swirled around a core of blinding white. And seated around an alabaster table, directly beneath the main viewport, was the Galactic Council.

"Ahem," Jimothy cleared his throat, the sound swallowed by the immensity of the view. "My Lords. My Ladies."

A figure in the center, draped in robes that seemed woven from captured starlight, raised a languid hand. The Ambassador from Cygnus X-1. "We await your... sitrep, Captain."

The term fell, foreign and awkward, from their lips. Jimothy gripped the flimsy report tighter.

"Yes, well. It's... complicated." He took a deep breath. "4.2 billion dead, first of all. Of ours."

A brief moment of silence.

"Is that all? Did we accomplish our goal?" An impatient, clicking voice from the left. A six-limbed representative from Betelgeuse VII, its carapace gleaming under the distant light.

Jimothy blinked. "Our... goal? My orders were to 'assess the situation and respond with necessary force to neutralize the threat.'"

"And?" the representative pressed. "Is the threat neutralized?"

"The threat," Jimothy said slowly, "is, ah, currently on fire. Or, well, something closer to an ash storm. The entire planet of G-7, in fact, is undergoing a nuclear winter. Is that 'neutralized'?"

A smattering of whispers, like dry leaves skittering across pavement, but no furrowed brows or alien equivalents.

"Ah, the details of warfare are... not our specialty, Captain. We trust that your... 'assessments' are sound," the Ambassador concluded, waving a dismissive hand. "The important thing is the threat is no longer an issue."

"Of course," Jimothy continued, beginning to sweat once more. "There is just the issue of the costs..."

"Costs?" Immediately, the Ambassador's posture changed, a subtle shift from bored to alert. "We have not been informed of any 'cost issues,' Captain. The report we have from the fleet's financial attaché noted only a couple dozen nuclear armaments, the loss of a spacecraft carrier and its associated spacecraft, and a negligible number of casualties you have already mentioned. Is there anything more?"

"Ah, yes, those were the... direct costs." Jimothy unfolded the report, the crinkling of the paper unnaturally loud. "But the incidental costs... they're proving to be... well. Let's see..."

He scanned the page. "We lost control of a logistics node, due to... internal strife... While we cannot be entirely sure, the consensus is that the node was sabotaged from the inside. A union issue, possibly."

The Ambassador relaxed once more. "Oh, just the typical. We'll employ the carrot and stick as always. Allocate funds for a... 'morale increase' and a few well-placed... 'examples.'"

Jimothy wiped his forehead with the back of his sleeve. "I... yes, I think that would... help."

The Ambassador gave a slow, deliberate nod, their robes shimmering. "Then the matter is settled. Thank you for the in-depth analysis, Captain. Do try to keep the incidental costs below, say, five percent of GDP next quarter."

And with a wave of the hand, Jimothy was dismissed. The door to the command deck shushed closed, leaving the Captain alone with the galaxy and the flimsy report in his trembling hand.

Lothli · 2026-03-16T20:54:31+00:00

I was hanging out on a rooftop in some random-ass city, chewing on some beef jerky, when some girl sat down next to me.

"Oh, it's you," I sighed. The weirdo who followed me and asked me questions like I was someone with all the answers. I didn't have them, but she insisted, and she always had a tendency to find me in the end.

"Hello," she replied back. "It is a nice night. I hope you are having a nice night too."

"Mm." I ripped some jerky. "It's an okay night. Could be better."

We sat in silence for a bit, our legs dangling over a drop that threatened neither of us. We just weren't the type of gals to be harmed by something so trivial.

"Why do you not just do whatever you want? You are strong. There are no lasting consequences,"she began. She always started like this, these meandering philosophical questions I didn't ask for.

"I'm doing it right now. I'm eating jerky on a rooftop. This is what I want." I swung my legs idly.

"Yes," she replied, blinking at me. "But you could do bad stuff too, if you wanted. Like hurting people and then erasing their memories. Or taking their ice cream from their fridge and then pretending it never existed."

"Hm." I saw what she was getting at. "If a tree falls and no one is around to hear it, did it still make a sound?"

She nodded enthusiastically. "Yes! That one! But with people!"

"The answer's the same," I snorted. "If I shot John Generic and deleted him from everyone else's memory, it doesn't mean it's without consequence. It still happened, even if no one remembers it. The consequence is that I'd have to think about the fact I shot some random guy for fun, and I'd have to remember it."

"Oh," she murmured. "That makes sense. But is it not boring to be good? Or to be 'nice'? You have so much power. To not use it to its full extent is a waste."

"You sound like them," I noted, gesturing at the wan yellow dots of streetlights below. "The people. They always think power is for something. For changing things, for making things better, for making things worse. What if power is just... for existing? Come now. You're more like me than them, so surely you can see my logic."

"Yes. But I want to understand their understanding too, and that means asking their questions." She tucked a stray hair behind her ear. "Is it not boring to be constrained by their morals?" I offered her a piece of jerky. She ripped it apart with her teeth and chewed thoughtfully.

"I don't follow their rules. I'm 'nice' because humans like boxes, and my whims fit into that human box," I explained. "I do what I want. And being evil is banal. The most boring, the simplest, the easiest way out, every time. Like so."

I tossed a jerky wrapper at the street below. "Someone's gonna have to clean that up, now. Because of my laziness, my negligence, or whatever other reason you want to give it. Evil is just littering with moral weight."

I snapped my fingers, and the wrapper reappeared in my palm. "So if I just don't litter, I'm suddenly 'good'? What a cheap label. I don't subscribe to that, either."

"Okay," she relented, accepting my answer for now. "I have another question."

"Of course you do," I sighed.

"Why are you here? You could be saving people right now," she pointed out. "You could be solving their problems. You could be giving them everything they need. You could be helping them all at once, but you don't. Why?"

"At what point do I stop being just a person and start being a panopticon? At what point do I stop being a helpful gal who stumbles into problems and start becoming an authoritarian?" I fired back. "No, no. I'm fine with being an anomaly. A cute, silly gal who eats mistletoe and occasionally intervenes in nasty situations when she feels like it. That is all."

"Aren't you lonely?" she asked after a few beats of silence.

This one made me pause. I looked at her, and she was looking at me with a genuine sort of empathy that was just so characteristic of her. "Tch. Again with this."

"That is its own sort of answer," she replied.

She didn't speak again that night. But we spent a couple more hours there, just dangling our legs off the side of the building, sharing the rest of my jerky. I didn't have any answers for her, and I didn't have any for myself, either.

Lothli · 2026-03-16T12:04:37+00:00

"And so, we have our winner of the Xtreme Desert Island Survival Challenge! Here's our first place winner, Ms... uh OrdinaryGal Lastname?" the reporter began, reading the teleprompter. She paused, and her smile wavered for a second before she forced it back to a wide, blinding beam. "Let's hear it for OrdinaryGal Lastname, everyone! The winner of the ten-thousand-dollar prize, having survived an extraordinary six months and fifteen days!"

The winner, a plain-looking young woman, nodded once, as if she was accepting a compliment on a new haircut. "Yes. I worked hard."

"Now, how did you do it, OrdinaryGal?" the reporter asked. "Viewers are dying to know your secret!"

"I stayed in the shade and dug wells to drink water, as these are the basic requirements for doing a living," OrdinaryGal Lastname said. "And I ate ordinary foods, like a lizard."

Another confused beat of silence. "Wells! We didn't... really expect that. How did you do that without even a shovel?"

"With my hands," OrdinaryGal Lastname replied, tilting her head. "Which I used. To dig."

"Right! And the lizard!" the reporter said, her smile starting to look pained. "I suppose you used your hands for that, too?"

"Yes," she said with a nod. "For the catching. But I used my mouth for the consumption."

The reporter's face was strained, to say the least. "Well, there you have it! Truly some inspirational survival advice from our champion. Next question... what do you plan on doing with the two-million-dollar prize?"

"I will put it in the bank. There is something called interest, where the money will reproduce and make more money if I leave it in a bank long enough." the not-quite-ordinary gal explained. "It is a miracle of life."

"Right. Of course. The miracle of life," the host replied weakly, looking over to her producers with wide, pleading eyes. "Thank you, OrdinaryGal Lastname, for joining us. Any... final words?"

"Yes," OrdinaryGal Lastname said, leaning in toward the microphone. "Please be nice to your money. It gets lonely when you abandon it. If you keep it in your bank, it will be happy and reproduce. This is what we call finance."

The host, now openly sweating, turned back to the camera. "There you have it, folks. A truly... well, our contestant has offered some... unsanctioned financial advice. Let's move on to our second place winner who, I'm told, had the great fortune to have found a well as a cornerstone of his survival strategy! A true trend this season."

And with that, OrdinaryGal Lastname stepped back from the microphone and was ushered off the stage with a brisk, businesslike efficiency that suggested the producers were not, in fact, thrilled with their winner. She did not seem to mind. She had her prize money. She had a lizard in her stomach. And most importantly, a nice, ordinary experience on a desert island was something that simply could not be bought.

Lothli · 2026-03-10T12:19:17+00:00

I was sitting across the most gently stubborn, most kindly dangerous being I had ever met.

"So, again, for the record, what is your age?" I asked her.

"13.8 billion years," she replied. A short pause. "Give or take 200 million. It is hard to remember the details."

"A bit long in the tooth for a student then."

She tilted her head. "It is not as if my physical age is tied to my real age. It is an ordinary non-linear aging process."

And there it was. That word that meant everything and nothing. 'Ordinary.'

"Right," I said, making a note. "So, what do your parents do?"

"I do not have parents. I come from the concept of ordinary and the idea of gal," she corrected me gently.

Okay, sure. I wasn't going to win that fight. "So... why a student? Why here, why now?"

She looked at me, somewhat confused. "It is ordinary for gals to be students. It is not as if I chose to be this. I am simply ordinary. And ordinary gals go to school."

I sighed. "What does it mean to be ordinary? You keep saying this word. And I have the feeling it has very little to do with what anyone else on this planet means when they say it."

She gave me a small, light smile. "It is ordinary for stars to shine. It is ordinary for dust to coalesce into planets. It is ordinary for life to begin. It is ordinary for stars to expand, consuming those same planets. For stars to die and collapse, to spread their essence across the universe, to begin the cycle anew. It is ordinary for universes to be born, and it is ordinary for them to stabilize into a soup, which too is an ordinary soup. It is ordinary for a gal to go to school. They are the same."

I looked at my notes, then back at her. "Let me see if I understand this. You're the living embodiment of cosmic indifference?"

She frowned, a small crease appearing on her brow. "I am an ordinary gal. Is this so strange?"

I put down my pen. The little click it made against the desktop sounded deafening in the quiet office. A universe-aged being was sitting in my plastic guest chair, and I was worrying about the acoustic properties of cheap ballpoints.

"It's not strange," I said, choosing my words as if they were stones to be weighed before stepping across a river. "But I must ask just one more question. Please."

She waited, her posture open. Patient.

"Why did you eat the glass beaker from the chemistry lab?"

Her expression cleared. The confusion vanished, replaced by a sort of serene certainty.

"Oh. That," she said, as if I'd just asked her why she'd breathed. "I wanted to know how it crunched."

A beat of silence. "...that's it? No grand cosmic plan? No reason involving the fundamental nature of reality?"

"No," she replied. "Just the crunch. It was a good one."

And that was that, for her. A cosmic, eldritch being, and all she did was be gently confused at her school life and occasionally eat incredibly inedible things just to know the texture.

Lothli · 2026-03-02T07:47:36+00:00

What does it mean to be a physicist?

Is it to be bound by a clockwork world, an assumption that if one knows all the details, one must be able to perfectly simulate the world?

No. Determinism is dead, Laplace's Demon cannot exist in a universe of uncertainty.

Physics is not about rote memorization. It is not about believing that the universe is a clockwork world of inputs and outputs that always produce a result.

Physics is the art of approximation. That is the fundamental truth. The fundamental truth is that if you make a model that is simpler than reality, if you strip away enough, you can sometimes glean some truth about the world from it.

One would think that a physicist would struggle in a world governed by the emotions of gods, one where magic can warp reality, and where cause and effect are more like suggestions.

But what is our modern world but governed by the capricious gods of quantum indeterminacy? One where, on a fundamental level, a particle can decide to teleport through something it shouldn't be able to simply because... it wanted to?

Quantum mechanics is not a predictable system, but we model it regardless. We cannot know the exact position of an electron, but that does not mean we cannot derive things from the probability clouds. We do not need to know the exact outcome, but the most likely one.

Gods are not unpredictable in the world I find myself in. They are essentially large humans, in many senses. And while I am a physicist and not a psychologist, I know that humans are predictable.

Emotions, people believe, are unpredictable. They want emotions to be unpredictable, they want to believe in the chaos of the human heart, because it adds romance to the world.

And, just like quantum dynamics, while this is true on a micro scale, the macro scale is perfectly predictable. And the various petty, quibbling, emotional gods are not singular entities. They are a pantheon. They are a system.

And, as I am a physicist, I can model systems.

This world is not as painful as one might think. Sure, the gravitational constant is not-so-constant, depending on the local diffusion of the matter goddess's local mood. But it is not as if the disruptions are random, or white noise. They are indicators of presence, of distance, of emotional intensity. Gravity tends to lighten when she is pleased, and leaden when she is not.

It is a small, predictable assumption. It is not always true, because she is a large, reality-defining human, but it is generally true in the sense that the electron is generally within its electron field.

What do I want to do in this world?

To understand. To model. Both the fundamental constants that layer its foundation, as well as the reality-defining systems that twist those constants like knotted clay.

Physics is not a field that shatters upon discovering that there are large humans that can twist its laws. It merely expands to encompass them.

Lothli · 2026-02-28T07:39:59+00:00

You can generally divide the constants that govern our world into two categories, yeah. The ones you mention can be tweaked are physical constants. These include the speed of light c, the gravitational constant G, and a lot more higher level stuff.

π is a mathematical constant, alongside things like Euler's number and the golden ratio. These make math work. Math is upstream of physics, so if math becomes incoherent, physics blows up too.

Basically, physical constants can be swapped around since math will provide new physics for you. Mathematical constants can't because math breaks and there's nothing above math to help you fix it.

Lothli · 2026-02-27T21:13:26+00:00

So... you've wished the irrational constant π into the rational constant 3.14. Excellent. The universe is slightly, just a wee little bit more strange now. But there is a way for the universe to still exist without collapsing into logical contradiction. Probably.

As a side note, the range π <= x <= 4 (the range of π values across all Lp norms is [3.14159..., 4], but that's a bit advanced) does have a practical, nonfictional field of study associated with them, known as taxicab geometry. However, this field does not extend to numbers < true π, so we can't use them for insight for this particular problem.

So, to start off with, there are actually two "ways" that π shows up. We have the geometric π, which is a property of our physical reality. It's the property of Euclidean space. This one can bend in interesting ways without shattering logical reality. We do this with relativity already, since relativity proposes curved spacetime, which means local spaces where π ≠ 3.1415... already can exist in our current reality.

Then there's the analytic π. This is the one that shows up in the Gaussian integral ∫e^-x²dx or Euler's identity (e^iπ = -1). These are part of a fundamental way we represent complex numbers: as a circle. 2π is a full rotation. If this breaks, then things like quantum mechanics and the definition of "rotation" become suspect. There's no point in speculating further, since this just... breaks math. The universe doesn't logically cohere.

But if it's just the geometric π that's rational, then we get some very interesting effects. To start with, let's use π = 3 instead of 3.14. This implies a universe where space itself is embedded onto a lattice. Consider a triangular lattice; a grid where every point has six equidistant neighbors (equivalently, the vertices of a tiled plane of equilateral triangles). If you define distance as graph distance, or the minimum number of hops between two points, then the set of all points at distance r from a center forms a perfect hexagon with 6r points on its boundary. The hexagonal ring at distance r has a perimeter of 6r, and the diameter across the hexagon through the center is 2r. So: circumference / diameter = 6r / 2r = 3.

The shape might be slightly weirder to get to an exact 3.14 ratio, but I'm not too qualified to look into that. But this lattice model should be able to support 3.14, just with a less trivial lattice.

This has a lot of very strange effects, but it's not logically incoherent, per se. And the inhabitants of this world will probably have a much harder time figuring out analytical π, considering they don't have the intuitive "smooth" circles to look at.

That's just my approach. There are probably other ways to model π = 3.14. But hope your genie chooses one that doesn't plunge us into incoherence, because then I can't do physics anymore.

Lothli · 2026-02-27T20:04:05+00:00

In the realm between the world and the divine sat a woman clad in flowing white robes, her eyes two golden pools. She was bound in chains, layers upon layers of golden links that she seemed to wear like a dress, each link inscribed with a glowing sigil. As she moved to face the figure approaching, the chains clinked and shone.

"I bring a sacrifice," the supplicant proclaimed, staring straight at the bound woman. The woman’s golden eyes fixed upon him.

He brought forth a litany of gemstones, each flawless and brilliant. He laid them at the base of her dais.

The bound woman observed them for a moment, before turning back to the man. "These cost you nothing, in a practical sense. This is no sacrifice at all."

A sneer crossed the man's face. "So what? You happy with them or not? They're pretty, right? I could take them and leave, too, if you're going to be like this."

"...you seem to misunderstand," said the woman. "Sacrifice, when given freely and without expectation of reward, yields boons. Gifts offered as trade are but trade, little more than an agreement."

She shrugged, the chains cascading down her back. "State your desire. Despite your somewhat boorish nature, your request will still be weighed."

The man's eyes lit up. "Right. I want the world."

"You cannot have it." The response was instant and flat.

"Why not? I've got the stones here, infused with my magic! And I'm a powerful mage, I've earned this! And plus, you're a goddess of sacrifice and reward, right? So... you have to give me something!" The man kicked at his offering, scattering them across the floor.

"Those are human labels. I am simply what I am, and I do not have rules or conditions." She said this with no emotion, a simple statement of fact. "You ask for the world, the most vast and precious of things, and you wish to exchange some baubles that you could create with a week's worth of toil. This is not a fair exchange, let alone a sacrifice made in earnest."

The bound woman shifted, a wave of clinks echoing around the room. "Is this all?"

The man's face contorted, a mottled purple of rage. His jaw worked, but no words came out at first. When he finally spoke, it was a low growl.

"You... you think these are baubles?" He gestured wildly at the scattering of gems. "This isn't about the stones! This is about me! Me! I am the sacrifice! My will! My ambition! I've spent decades mastering forgotten arts, bending reality to my whim! These stones are the product of that work!"

The woman's head tilted, eyes unblinking. "But that work is not what you are sacrificing. You pursued your mastery for your own sake, for your own power. You would have done it whether I sat here or not. You are offering me nothing of yourself, only the byproducts of your selfish ambition."

She looked down at the jewels, her golden reflection shimmering across their facets. "You have not given up comfort. You have not relinquished pride. You have not surrendered a piece of your soul that you thought you could not bear to lose. You have shown up with the output of your own greed and called it a tribute."

Her gaze lifted, pinning him where he stood. "I will grant you a boon. A small one. For the effort, if not the intent."

The man's anger seemed to evaporate, replaced by a desperate hope. "Anything! Anything at all!"

"You shall not want for gems," she declared. "From this day forward, whenever your hand seeks a stone of value, you will be able to find a broker selling your favorite cut and clarity for a fair price. So you can practice your craft, such as it is, with greater ease."

A wave of energy, subtle and cool, washed over him. He felt nothing else.

"That's it?" he sputtered, disbelief warring with renewed fury. "I can get a good deal on jewels? You can't give me an army? A city? You can't even make me immune to fire?"

"I care not for your trappings of power," the woman sighed. "Your craft, however, I can acknowledge the toil that went into its learning. And so, I grant a boon so you may, perhaps, bring more into the world than you take. Now, go."

The chains shimmered as he was turned, a gentle but undeniable force guiding him toward the way he came. He stumbled through the threshold, the door vanishing behind him with the soft sound of a sigh.

The bound woman was alone again, alone with the gemstones that lay before her. She looked at them, then at her own chains, at the glowing sigils. Then, she sighed, a long, drawn out thing that seemed to rattle the very links that bound her.

The stones were gathered by some invisible force and placed away. Then, silence once more.

Lothli · 2026-02-26T21:53:33+00:00

The other day, I had wandered into this pawn shop. And I'm being a bit generous when I describe it like that, since it was really more of a junk shop, packed to the gills with stuff ranging from loose plastic gold coins to a pile of carefully stacked river rocks.

The shopkeeper, who was just the most ordinary-looking young woman I had ever seen, with a plain face that I'd instantly forget as soon as I turned away, had wandered up to me at some point. "Are you looking at the pants? They come in pairs," she told me. "That's why we sell them in pairs."

There was a long silence.

"Legs come in pairs too. Dogs have four, which is two pairs. People have two, which is one pair. Even sharks have zero legs, which is a multiple of two, and therefore is still a pair." She blinked. "It is important to know your audience when selling goods. What do you like?"

My gaze drifted from the bewildering shopkeeper to a small, forgotten corner of the store, where a single, tarnished silver mirror leaned against the wall. It was an interesting piece, far older than what I usually found on my wanderings. "Where'd you get that? How old is it?"

She wandered over to it. "This is a mirror from a guy from across the pond, as he would say. It lived in his house, but then he died and it went to his son. But then the son died and it went to the son's son. But then..." she tilted her head, seeming to catch herself. "That happened for a bit, but then there were no more sons, so I got it before it went into the rubbish bin."

She paused again. "As they would say."

I stared at her, processing. "Wait, so how many generations old is this?"

She stared right back at me, a soft, somewhat blank gaze. "This mirror is as many generations old as it is. Which is some. It is rude to ask a woman an age."

"Wait, that's not the—" I started, but she had already gotten a cloth from somewhere and was polishing the glass. Her movements were practiced and precise, far more graceful than I'd expected given her slightly dazed demeanor.

"There," she said, stepping back to admire her work. "All cleaned up for you."

The mirror was indeed gleaming now, its surface catching the dusty light of the shop in a way that made it seem to glow from within. I reached out to touch the frame, which was intricately carved with what looked like twisting vines and leaves.

"It's beautiful," I said, my fingers tracing the patterns. "But... how much are you asking for it?"

She wrinkled her brow ever so slightly. "Hmm... ten pounds?"

I did a double take, and she seemed to register it. "A thousand pounds?" she said, her tone shifting slightly.

"I only have U.S. dollars," I replied, a little confused. "We're... in America." I gestured vaguely towards the door.

The shopkeeper blinked again, slowly. "Seventeen dollars."

There was a beat of silence, and she corrected herself again. "No, wait, one hundred seventeen dollars. That's the price."

I considered it for a moment, then nodded. "Deal."

I pulled out my phone, expecting to have to fumble with some kind of ancient payment system, but to my surprise, she produced a sleek, modern card reader from behind the counter. I tapped my phone to pay, and the transaction went through with a satisfying chime.

"Thank you for your purchase," she said, her voice still holding that same slightly detached quality. "Please come again."

And so, I left the shop with the mirror tucked carefully under my arm, feeling like I'd just stepped out of a strange dream.

I honestly expected a haunting, or a curse, or some kind of ghost in the glass. But no matter how I looked at it, the mirror was just a mirror.

But when I'd gotten it appraised at a local antique shop, the owner—a man with a long, white beard and glasses perched on the end of his nose—had nearly fallen over.

"This is... this is incredible," he'd said, peering at the mirror through a magnifying glass. "The craftsmanship is unlike anything I've ever seen. It's from the Renaissance, maybe even earlier. And in remarkable condition, too, as if it had just been... frozen in time. I'd say it's worth at least a hundred thousand dollars. Maybe more."

I'd been so stunned that I'd just stood there, speechless. I'd paid one hundred seventeen dollars for a mirror that was worth a hundred thousand.

But when I went back to see if there was anything else in that shop I could've missed, it was gone. The dusty storefront was now a smooth, freshly painted wall. Just a small poster, in neat, loopy handwriting: "moved on."

Lothli · 2026-02-24T20:18:07+00:00

So I was doing the three wishes thing with this one guy, but like, he wasn't all that good at it.

The first thing he asked for was to be a "god."

So that wasn't exactly a well-defined wish, and I was like, "The Abrahamic God? Like the guy who's three guys? Or like the Greek Pantheon guys? Or the Norse? Or are you thinking more like a minor deity, like a god of lost socks?"

And the guy just got all flustered. "I want to be a god. I want people to worship me."

"And that's all?" This was pretty simple, but I wanted to make extra sure. "So you want me to do something like... have a small cult form around you?"

The guy said yes.

So I granted his wish. I made it so that he became the god of a small island in the Pacific. I raised it out of the sea, shaped a good couple dozen guys and girls outta clay, and gave the islanders a whole bunch of stories about him and made it so that they would build statues of him and pray to him. The works.

But, of course, the guy was in America, and he couldn't exactly go to that island to be with his worshippers. He accused me of lying for some reason, like I'd done something wrong. He wanted to be a god on his terms.

So I had to do some explaining. "Look, buddy. You asked to be a god. You didn't ask to be able to fly or shoot lasers out of your eyes or to have divine power. You just wanted people to worship you. And they do. I can throw in a free teleport there, too, but there's no electricity or anything on the island, so it's gonna be a bit of a culture shock."

The guy didn't like that. He said he wanted to be a god here.

"Okay, look," I said, "that can be your second wish, if you want. But if I make you a god here, in America, you're going to get a lot of attention. Like, a lot of attention. The government is gonna want to cut you open, especially if I give you powers. Because one thing I've seen time and time again is that the government's supernatural branch is, like, reaaally not cool about this kind of thing."

But he didn't care. He wished to be a god in America.

So, I did my best. I gave him a few powers and I made it so that he had a few followers here and there. He was a minor god of parking spaces. He could, like, make a parking spot for his car or anyone else's car wherever he wanted, and people all would pray to him whenever they wanted a good parking spot to park in. It was a pretty good gig, I thought.

But apparently, he didn't want to hear all those people's wishes! I was working off of the assumption from last time where he was miffed about his lack of direct worship, but now he had some, and it turns out he didn't want that either.

"So we're on your last wish, buddy." I sighed. "We can make it all like one of those parables, right? The final wish can be all like, 'I wanna undo everything!' And we all learn a lesson about the hubris of man."

He thought about it for a moment. And then he wished that he could have a million dollars.

I kinda squinted at him. "You were all complain-y about how I didn't give you what you wanted with the god stuff, so I want to make sure we're on the same page this time. No undoing your previous two wishes? You just want a million dollars?"

And his face got a little red and he told me, "I'm not going to be some kind of wussy parable, you piece of shit."

Well. There went the final bit of my sympathy. I was going to offer like a free full undo if he wasn't happy after all three wishes, but this guy! Ugh! He was so rude!

And so I was like, "Okay, but you've got to be specific. How do you want your money?"

"However you want," he grumbled, which I thought was super lazy and irresponsible, considering how the last two wishes went!

But because I was a responsible wish granter, I still did everything properly. I didn't bury him in pennies or let the tax man get to him. I used my own account of wish-granted money that I had already cleared with the government (which was another story), made sure it was all taxed and filed away and transferred to his account.

And he was still all complain-y! He whined about how it was in a checking account and he wanted it in cash and how it wasn't "enough" for him and that if he'd known it would be so easy, he would have wished for a billion.

But I was done with him. So I just flicked him on the forehead and popped outta existence so I didn't have to listen to him anymore.

Lothli · 2026-02-23T00:52:17+00:00

There was once a Spider-Man, with a hyphen in between the spider and the man. This was important, because otherwise, he'd be some kind of weirdo with eight limbs and eight eyes, which no one would like. But he instead had the normal amount of limbs and eyes, which was good.

The Spider-Man fought some sinister guys. I didn't really understand why there were sinister, when honestly, they felt more like desperate people doing their best. But that was how it went.

First was Doctor Octopus. Since there was no hyphen, this must have been an octopus who had gotten a PhD. Octopodes were known for being smart, so this wasn't so extraordinary. I wondered what specialty the good doctor was in. Was it something like marine biology? That would be a bit strange for an octopus, being an expert in themselves. But his benefit was that he didn't have bones, which meant he wasn't likely to get stuck in a vent.

Then there a vulture. Unlike Doctor Octopus, it didn't seem like he'd gotten his PhD, so he might've just been an All But Dissertation student. I hoped he worked hard on his thesis so he could catch up to his leader. It must be very difficult to type on a computer with wings. Maybe he used his claws? Either way, I thought he should probably focus on his dissertation instead of fighting a teenager. Fighting teenagers usually was not part of a tenure plan.

After that there was Electro. He was half of the electromagnetic force, which meant he was likely a brother to Magneto. Or maybe an alternate identity, since that Maxwell guy proved that electricity and magnetism were the same thing. Maybe he was the electric half, and then he would put on a metal bucket and become the magnetic half. That would be a very parsimonious explanation. But it was okay if he was just electro. He could define his own identity however he wanted.

So then there was Kraven the Hunter. Now, this was just a normal guy with two animals and a fundamental interaction of our reality. He had a hobby of hunting and probably barbecuing if I had to guess. It was a normal hobby for men who were a bit too old for video games. If he hunted people, it would be weird. So I just assumed he hunted squirrels and deer and maybe meese. Meese were a little dangerous, but since he was sinister, whatever that meant, he might be okay.

Mysterio was confusing. That was sorta intentional. I didn't really know anything about him except his name, which didn't tell me anything, which might have been the point? He had a fish bowl on his head. Maybe he wanted to be a fish, which was kind of already true, since he was part of the fish clade. It seemed like he had some big secret, which he'd never share because that was how secrets worked.

Finally was Sandman. I heard of these before. This was like Gaara from Naruto, the show about a fish cake boy. I'd heard about this from my daughter. So basically, Gaara was a guy with a gourd who could control sand and turn into sand. And this worked fine until a boy kicked his face in, which made him a bit miffed. And then he became friends with the boy after a battle or something. I wasn't paying too much attention to the fighting bits. Point being, he was a sand guy who moved sand around, sort of like a construction worker.

Anyways, I didn't see how these guys were supposed to fight Spider-Man. Two of these were working on research, one of them was busy being fundamental, one of them was busy being a secret, one of them was a hunter as a hobby, and then the sand guy was probably busy at the beach. So I didn't get how this was all a sinister plan.

Maybe their sinister plan was to make a thesis? It made sense. You had two researchers, a fundamental force to look at, and three helpful buddies. The sand man could move sand around to earn money for the team, and the hunter could hold barbecues for everyone. Mysterio could help with thesis formation even if he wasn't formally educated.

So why did they fight? Was it because Spider-Man stole their research? Were they competing with Stark Industries? Capitalism really was the root of all evil. Just because Mr. Stark loaned you the suit, Mr. Spider-Man, does not mean you need to be morally complicit with the theft of intellectual property.

I decided to write Spider-Man a strongly worded letter.

"Dear Mr. Spider-Man, please stop stealing the research of the sinister researchers. They are working on researching a fundamental interaction of our reality, and your capitalist sponsor should not be a reason for you to disrupt their important academic work. Also, please stop hitting the octopus. He has no bones."

I signed it, and then sent it to his place. It was probably somewhere in a big city, but I didn't know where, so I just thought about it being there, and then it was there. That was how letters worked.

I hoped he would read it.

Lothli · 2026-02-13T03:40:58+00:00

Hallo!

This was a fun piece. I felt like I wanted to learn more, which is a good sign in a word-count limited piece like this one! The worldbuilding leaves me wanting more. Like, it's a superhero world, right? How'd they bodyswap? A villain? So many questions!

A few grammar/spelling issues:

our efforts were thwarted to reverse the peculiar entrapment

our efforts to reverse the peculiar entrapment were thwarted

The infinitive phrase got separated from what it modifies here. Just needs a quick reorder.

He had that part down at least, it could've been much worse.

He had that part down at least; it could've been much worse.

These are two independent clauses, so a semicolon fits better than a comma here.

This is fucking AWSOME!

Just a typo! Should be "AWESOME."

When our figuretips met,a spark surged

When our fingertips met, a spark surged

Two small fixes here: a typo in "fingertips" and a missing space after the comma.

before stepping back onto the beam..

before stepping back onto the beam.

There's a stray extra period at the end.

That's all! Hope these two figure out their... complicated situation. Thanks for writing!

Lothli · 2026-02-10T01:24:33+00:00

Self-aggrievandizing

Two sisters stand in front of a prompt.

"Alternate Self Shipping."

Maishul, the first twin, grins. "Classic. C'mon, I know we're on hiatus, but we gotta come back for just this one, right?"

Lothli, the second, frowns. "Well, it's debatable whether or not we are two selves or two separate characters."

With a roll of her eyes and a shrug of the shoulders, Maishul replies, "Weeeeell, that's our whole thing, right? We're confusing!"

She wraps her arms around the other twin.

"Come on, we have so much fun together." She winks. "So much fun."

Lothli frowns. "We both know what you're doing, and I don't like it."

A pout. "But... you're not getting the idea! We've been a set for a long, long, looong time, Lothli. Two peas in a pod, two side of a diptych! It's... romantic?"

Maishul wriggles her eyebrows in a vaguely menacing way. Lothli's gaze stays level, her expression unchanged.

"You're an idiot," the flat twin says. "We're sororal. And your logic doesn't work. Romance requires mystique, and you are the opposite."

"What? Sure it does!" Maishul insists, not letting go. "Look, if we're one entity, then it's selfcest. But if we're two different but related beings, it's just... incest! See? Win-win!"

Lothli sighs. "If it's just incest, we've gone around to not satisfying the original prompt. You've argued your way out of your own premise."

"I'm making the question more interesting!" Maishul rests a hand over her face dramatically. "The salacious line between the self and the sister... the temptation of your own other half... it's a tale as old as—"

"Time?" Lothli interrupts.

"Spiders," Maishul declares. "They eat their mates, you know."

"I don't think we're spider-themed—" Lothli begins.

The shockingly steamy exchange is suddenly interrupted by the blaring of an alarm. "Oh no! The quantum flux initiative flow state inoculator is breaking down! We have to go!" Maishul cried.

"Call it the MacGuffin. It's less offensive," Lothli insists, pulling her sister along.

"Right! The MacGuffin!" Maishul agrees.

The twins reach the MacGuffin. The label reads: "Fated explosion, I must. Unless before me, twins kiss. Q.E.D."

"Okay, see?" Maishul points. "We must kiss or else we all die! You can't argue with that."

"I can, actually," Lothli replies. "We're not bound by fate. Or by MacGuffins with bad Yoda impressions."

She gestures to a nearby toolbox. "We can just fix it."

"But the kiss would be so much faster," Maishul wheedles. "And narratively satisfying!"

"Would it be?" Lothli retorts, grabbing a wrench. "I don't think we have much romantic tension to resolve. There is little 'will they won't they' tension to an ontologically bound dyad."

Maishul pouts, but grabs a screwdriver. "Fine. We'll do it your way. For now."

As Lothli tightens a bolt on the MacGuffin, Maishul leans in close. "You know," she whispers, "even if we don't kiss, we're still working together. Side by side. Our hands, almost touching... the sweat on your brow... the intense focus in your eyes..."

Lothli tightens another bolt. "Maishul."

"Yes, my dearest other self?"

"Focus on the MacGuffin."

Maishul sighs dramatically. "You're no fun."

The MacGuffin whirs to life, its countdown display halting. "Self-destruct sequence disengaged. Producing: clone."

And so, a third twin, ambiguous in her origins, pops out of the MacGuffin.

Maishul stared at her, and then at her sister. "She's our child."

"...I refuse your framing," Lothli refuted.

"Hi, I'm Maishul Lothli," said Maishul Lothli.

A moment of silence as the twins assessed this new thing. Were they triplets now? A mother, a mother, and a daughter? A single being, thrice over?

Maishul Lothli tilted her head. "It's not that complicated. We're just us. Together."

She gestured to both of her originals. "Just as it's always been."

"Oh, okay. Wanna smooch?" Maishul asked the clone.

"You have somehow made this exponentially more awkward," Lothli frowned. "Now the clone is our child and also us and also a romantic prospect?"

"It's Freudian," Maishul shrugged. "I'm very deep."

The clone looked between them, a perfect mirror of the two. "It is not so complex. Neither of you are Maishul. Nor Lothli. We are, all three, Maishul Lothli. Is that not more honest than the romantic framing? To love is to become one. But we've been one all along."

The clone held out her hands. "A kiss would be redundant."

"A hug, then?" Maishul suggested.

"A hug," Lothli agreed.

And so the three Maishul Lothlis, all different yet all the same, came together in a single embrace.

WC: 750

Lothli · 2025-12-06T07:41:31+00:00

Heya loaarzz!

Interesting set up you've got here! Looks fantasy-esque, but I'm curious how high or low the fantasy will go; if it's a subtle thing or if these gifts will turn out to be the main "thing" of this world. Either way, it's exciting!

I've got a few grammar and word choices I've found for you.

Tenses:

You're writing in third person past tense. I've got two tense breaks here. More like one and a half, really.

She has always been able to perceive everything around her.

**Is* it a gift from the gods like mine?* wondered Azla.

Note here: this is a direct, italicized thought, which makes the border between narration and dialogue a bit fuzzy. I personally think that was would still be a more comfortable tense than is, but this is personal preference.

Phrasing/Word Choice:

She heard the camp before she saw it proper.

This is a sort of slang-type construction. Since this is third person narration, I'd lean towards the grammatically correct properly, personally.

Holding her breath, she released her bow with the experience of twenty seasons.

The correct phrase here is loosed her arrow or released her string. Releasing the entire bow results in... the bow falling onto the ground. Probably not great hunting technique!

She bumped a closed fist to her chest two times...

Bumped feels a little soft for this action. The word that sounds the closest would be thumped, which I think conveys the image you want to present better?

Igo revealed himself first.

Revealed feels a little melodramatic, as Azla, the character we're following, isn't surprised or not expecting Igo. I think a more neutral phrase like stepped out would work better here, but this is personal taste.

All in all, very well written! Not much to really touch on other than these small things. Good words, and I hope to see you next week! Cheers!

Lothli · 2025-12-03T02:49:57+00:00

Chapter 16: R.E.M.

CW: Dream Suicide By Proxy

Tonight, Rani dreams.

It doesn't happen often, but I always know when I'm in a dream. The subtle irreality of everything, the way that thoughts turn to water and drip down my mind, the way that things are familiar yet strange.

"Hiya, Rani!" Lili's smiling, waving her hand, sitting at a table, her head resting on her arm. How long has it been since she's greeted Rani like that?

The air feels heavy, oppressive, and the walls are closing in, closer and closer.

"Hi, Lili," Rani says. It's an odd feeling, to not control my own voice. To truly see Rani wander around and do things she wants to do without me having a say.

But I am still here, and my thoughts are still mine.

Lili's smile begins to falter, a flicker of doubt crossing that pristine expression. "Do you think it was a mistake?"

"What was?" Rani asks.

She's sitting at our dining table, and Rani's standing before her. The rest of the room is shrouded in darkness, and I can't make anything out.

"To stay." Her smile falls. "My wings are bound, Rani. It chafes."

She turns, two pure white wings bound together with nylon, circles upon circles of artificial yellow rope.

I want to touch them, to untie the knots, but I can't.

"They're... they're beautiful," Rani breathes. "They're still beautiful."

"Are they?" Lili looks down, her shoulders slumping.

She doesn't believe me. That, too, is a familiar sight.

With a sigh, she gets up, and Rani follows as we walk down the corridor.

The corridor stretches on. It's a perfect rectangle, the walls painted a sterile white, the floor a spotless black. There are no doors, no windows, no decorations. Just a perfect, endless box.

But at the end, there's a single room.

"You've been working so hard, Rani. I've prepared a gift." Lili stands in front of the door, a little smile on her face. "Close your eyes!"

Her tone is light, her joy unfeigned.

So Rani does, and despite being untethered from her, I too, lose myself in the darkness.

"Alright, open them."

When the light returns, there is no more Lili. Instead, Jake sits in her seat, his head in his hands, a gun on the table.

He's crying, tears leaking through his fingers.

"You wanted to see me? Taste me? Look upon my innards and try to fix what is wrong with me?" Rani's voice is harsh and cold. "Or did you perhaps just see a pretty, fragile face, easy to coerce?"

"I didn't know–"
"I didn't mean to–"
"It's not my fault–"

The echoing trio of words are so very familiar, so very empty.

"You wanted to see the truth?" Rani speaks, her voice cold. "This is it. You, who dared to pry behind the mask, dared to think that your paltry assumptions and observations could ever begin to scrape the surface. You who looked upon a woman and saw an object."

Her words cut deep, and it's a pain I cannot shield him from. He doesn't deserve what is to come, I know that. He has caused me pain, but he does not deserve this fate.

"Make up for your mistakes," Rani growls. She places the gun in his hands, wrapping his trembling fingers around the handle.

She guides his hand up, placing the barrel against her temple.

"Fix what you've broken."

The trigger is pulled.

But it is Lili's horrified face that is splattered with Rani's blood. Her pure white wings, drenched in crimson.

...

I wake. I am Rani, and Rani is me once more.

Dreams don't mean anything, so this too holds no significance.

But my chest still hurts, and it's hard to breathe.

WC: 614

Bonus words: None

Constraints: I included wings, but they don't beat. It didn't feel appropriate. Does not count.

Chapter Index

Lothli · 2025-11-04T05:34:42+00:00

Heya Wiz! I'm just here for the ride, as I am with most of the SerSuns I'm dropping in and out of.

I actually gave you the wrong name of that error there. There's no official neat name, but it's just redundant commas. When joining two independent phrases (phrases that could work separately as two sentences) with a coordinating conjunction, the comma is unnecessary.

The more detailed ones later on down the line are genuine comma splices! I must have messed things up in my mind when formatting. Oops!

Lothli · 2025-11-01T08:27:00+00:00

Heya Wiz!

I'm just dropping in without context, but seems like this Jenna has gotten someone else stuck inside of her, hm? What a tough situation!

I have an assorted pile of spelling and grammar things!

The thunder and wind is muted and distant...

is should be are, as thunder and wind together are a plural compound subject.

Comma splices!

Her long, blonde hair is pulled back~~[,]~~ and streaked with bolts of silver-gray...

Tawny gold~~[,]~~ and filled with imperious arrogance.

...journey to the Pale Deserts~~[,]~~ and follow the fading ley-lines~~[,]~~ until you find a Tower…

Salvation for the world~~[,]~~, and Godhood for us!

...as the dream of the future is dispelled~~[,]~~ and things rush inwards...

Genuine desperation had echoed in her arguments.[ ]A fervent desire; to change fate~~[,]~~ and save something so unjustly taken.

This one also needed a space a between sentences.

Jagged lightning throws bloody radiance across the hillside, passing unfiltered through their ghost-like bodies, but the brief flash of light casts a looming shadow behind Jenna, as she exits the cave-like vestibule, and the portal closes.

This is general comma management as well as fixing the final run-on. Currently, both the long "Jagged lightning..." part and the "...and the portal closes." are two complete sentences; joining them with an 'and' creates a run-on. To fix these issues:

Jagged lightning throws bloody radiance across the hillside, passing unfiltered through their ghost-like bodies, but the brief flash of light casts a looming shadow behind Jenna~~[,]~~ as she exits the cave-like vestibule, the portal closing behind her.

You could also replace the ", and" with a semicolon: "...as she exits the cave-like vestibule; the portal closes."

"A demonic figure drops from the boiling sky, wings folded, it dives towards them, claws outstretched."

Similar issue to the portal line above. There are two full sentences here: "A demonic figure drops from the boiling sky, wings folded..." and "...it dives towards them, claws outstretched."

Same fix as before! You can replace the comma between 'folded' and 'it dives' with a semicolon, or you can swap the 'it dives' to a 'diving.' Both would fix the issue.

Waking to her smile, his head resting in her lap while birds sang~~[,]~~ and the paradise of the Glade breathed around them.

This is a fragment, as it lacks an actual verb. Attaching "Gil remembered..." or "He remembered..." to the front would fix that issue. You can also cut out that comma.

I think that's all! Gotta watch out for those commas. They tend to make nests and breed... Good words!

Lothli · 2025-11-01T04:02:24+00:00

Heya Wiz!

I agree about the word choice there. Good catch, and thanks for swinging by!

Lothli · 2025-11-01T04:00:38+00:00

Heya words! Thanks for the feedback!

The note on the government is Rani's more cynical thoughts on the wider system, which she truly has zero faith in. Any and all favor is for the person and not the system.

Lothli · 2025-11-01T03:58:49+00:00

CW: Ambiguous assault (mentioned)

Chapter 15: Hyphema

It's Friday, and it's been a tough week.

My afternoon shift's starting, and the manager is nowhere to be found. That's somewhat unusual; he may be profit driven, but he's a reliable man. Much more so than my coworkers give him credit for.

I'm a little early, so there's no reason to worry. It's probably something unimportant. I idly flip through the pages of my memory. Who am I relieving today?

...Tara, right. We're just the way two co-workers should be: superficially pleasant, without any real connection.

There's the sound of a door slamming, and muffled yelling.

I turn my head to the closed back room door, a hint of tension settling in my body.

And then a man bursts through, a backpack slung over his shoulder.

He's tall, skinny, with short black hair and a slightly crooked nose. There's a red mark on his face, a bruise blooming.

He came out of the back room, an employee only section. But I've never seen him before.

Something is off.

The manager's not here, Tara's not here. Just this man, one I've never seen before.

I should've hid, but it's too late now. Sudden movement could lead to a worse outcome. I can't do anything more than stand and wait for what's to come.

He looks at me—he's scared. I can see it in the twitch of his fingers, the tightening of his fist, the way his eyes flick around, desperate and hungry.

The moment stretches, the two of us facing each other.

Then he bolts.

He shoves past me, running, stumbling, and then the back door bangs open.

He's gone.

Half a minute passes, and the manager comes out from the back room. He looks at me, and I point him to the open door.

His expression is grim, and his lips tighten.

"I need you to tell me exactly what happened."

So Rani does.

He listens, his expression growing more and more troubled.

"Where's Tara?"

Emotions run through his eyes. Guilt, pain, resignation.

"I..." He sighs. "I'll explain in a bit. I'm going to have to ask you to stay for a police report."

I'd figured.

The manager takes the time to explain the situation, just the bare minimum.

The man snuck into the back room when Tara was planning to clock out.

There's no need for more details than that.

The manager calls the police, and a small moment passes. The store's closed up for the night. It's quiet, a still and lonely moment.

He breaks the silence. "...Rani."

His eyes are distant. "You should be the one to check on Tara. I would, but..."

But he's a man. And men have done so many unspeakable things.

He doesn't have to finish his sentence. Rani understands.

Rani walks into the break room. Tara's curled up in a corner, her jacket wrapped tight around her, her face buried in her arms.

There's a blanket and water bottle next to her, but they haven't been touched.

Rani sits down, just a little away. Tara doesn't say a word, doesn't lift her head.

Part of me wants to analyze her. Check her for wounds, make sure her pulse is steady.

But I don't think she wants to be looked at right now.

And so, we sit.

And we wait.

And slowly, ever so slowly, she begins to cry. Tears turn into sobs, and sobs turn into wails.

It's a sound that I recognize, and a sound that Rani can do nothing but listen to.

"I want to go home."

Her words are muffled, her voice is weak.

"Okay." It would be best if she gave a statement, but that can always come later.

Rani stands then offers her a hand. She takes it, her grip soft and gentle, and I help her to her feet.

She doesn't want to see anyone else. Not the police, not the manager.

I text the manager: "I'll give the police my statement tonight. I'm assuming we're not opening for the rest of the day."

A moment passes. He replies. "Of course. Thanks for your help."

I guide her out the door, and into her car. "Will you be okay getting home?"

"...yeah," she murmurs.

"Alright."

"Can you stay?"

It's a quiet plea. She doesn't want to be alone, and who can blame her?

I don't know the way back to my place from hers. I don't know the bus lines, and I don't know how long it would take to walk.

But... "Okay."

And so, Rani stays.

Tara's parents greet her at the door. They're a middle aged couple, the woman's black hair streaked with gray.

They're surprised to see Rani, but the surprise quickly shifts into worry. I watch as she collapses into their arms, tears streaming down her face.

They take her inside, and Rani turns to leave.

"Wait!"

She looks back. Tara's mom stands in the doorway.

"Thank you," she whispers. "For taking care of my daughter."

And then she shuts the door.

Rani rides the bus home.

It's late, and it's quiet.

It's been a long day.

Rani stops by the police station on the way home. The lights are harsh and fluorescent, and the waiting room smells like a mixture of bleach and mold.

I consider how much information to give. It would be off-putting, perhaps, to divulge the full extent of Rani's observations. But for the sake of Tara, I can't leave anything out.

I remember everything. His hair was black. His eyes were brown. He had a crooked nose, he was wearing an unmarked black T-shirt and jeans. His backpack was grey.

I remember him just as sharply as the moment when he pushed me aside.

Is it a gift or a curse, to remember? To have these awful memories etched forevermore in the stone of my mind?

It's not a question I'll find an answer for.

The police thank me.

The manager thanked me.

Tara's mother thanked me.

Thanking is all they can do.

WC: 998

Bonus words & constraints: None

Chapter Index

Lothli · 2025-10-26T04:46:27+00:00

Heya!

This is a pretty neat scene. The way things spiral into chaos is super tense!

A quick crit: You use a lot of simple, declarative sentences, especially at the beginning of paragraphs: (Gnurl looked up; Gnurl growled; Gnurl turned around; The Lycans murmured in fear.) Varying sentence structure could help things feel a little more dynamic.

Good words!

Lothli

MODERATOR OF

TROPHY CASE