Where this is happening right now is in an egg shrine with an over-sized, polka-dotted egg in the middle. I'm sitting in one corner and Birdo's off to the side, her nose cocked and ready to have another abortion if I move. The only other person here is Toad, who's slumped over in a mess of egg shells and dyeing the carpet red.
Her mouth aimed right at me, Birdo says, "Isn't this exciting? We are about to witness the birth of a new age."
I can't tell if she's talking to me or aiming at me or both.
"After all this work," she says, "we might even get a video game to honor us. People will never forget us. Not even your friend Toad."
In the other corner, Toad's body twitches and smears another coat of red over the carpet. Where we are right now is in a shrine among millions of other shrines an architect copied and pasted and pasted and pasted all over a grid. Outside the shrine, packs and packs of yoshi press their noses against the soundproof glass trying to get a view of the action.
"We'll have a theme song they play over the ending cinematic. A catchy little jig everybody loves but nobody can play."
The yoshi outside, they're Birdo's followers. All of them hand-picked and raised by Birdo herself. They listen to everything she says, so when Birdo says none of them are allowed inside the shrine, they wait outside.
The ground begins to shake. The giant egg in the middle twitches and twitches, sending vibrations throughout the ground.
"This is it," she says. "This is our big finale."