"Lately things, they don't seem the same."
Hey! T-Tusk, wait up!
Where are you going?!
...
...The Stag Station?
Oh, you wanted to go back to Dirtmouth for a bit?
...
Alright. I could use a break, anyway.
"K-Keep your distance, husk! "
Chance needed sunglasses. Reflective ones. Ones that stopped him from ruining every first impression within seconds.
This new bug had a blue shell - no, wait, was that armor? He wielded a round silvery shield, shaped like a roly-poly - oh, those were called pillbugs? - and with his face obscured by a heavy blue hood, only two white eyes visible from underneath.
Poor guy was just relaxing by Dirtmouth's well until Chance decided to say "Hi," forgetting that he was on the verge of becoming a zombie.
"H-Hey," Chance tried to say defusingly. "I'm not infected, alright? Chill."
The newcomer swung an arm dramatically. "You take me for an idiot? Anyone can see that light in your eyes, y-you… strange thing !"
Chance tried to retort, but huffed. He tried to raise an arm to soothe the stranger. "I… Okay, yeah, I am infected, but-"
"Stay back!"
The newcomer rushed forward with their shield, bashing it into Chance's chest. Chance wheezed, stumbling backwards as his arm tried to catch onto his victory, so sweet, so rich, so within his grasp.
Someone else's laughter.
Blood on his knuckles.
His own laughter.
A cool ocean into a devastating typhoon.
A lush forest into a blazing inferno.
To live by his shield,
And to die by a sword.
Chance was lying on the ground. He blinked. He could remember being struck, and he was on the ground right now, but he couldn't remember any sensation of actually falling.
Tiso was squatting down next to him, holding a sheet of paper with an arched brow. "What's this?", he asked.
"...I dunno."
A pause.
"...Who's Iselda?"
"...A shopkeeper up here."
"Ah."
Another pause.
Chance glanced over, still on the ground.
"...Why do you ask?"
"This is from her. It fell outta your bag."
Chance scrambled up, making a lunge for the paper, only for Tiso to yank it out of reach. He stumbled and fell into the dirt again, before jumping up to his feet. He reached for the letter, only to be held back by Tiso's shield. "The hell, man, what's it say?!" he protested.
Tiso sneered. "It's awfully suspicious how protective you are of a letter about bedsheets , you-" He paused, and looked at him funny. "What… does it say? "
Chance stopped struggling for a moment, and stared at the letter in Tiso's hand thoughtfully. "So Iselda was the one who replaced those… That's… not too surprising, actually."
Tiso stared at him, then looked down at the letter, then back at him. "Can…" He almost seemed hesitant to keep talking. "Can you… Do you not know how to read?"
Chance froze. "Y… Yeah. Er… no? I don't know."
"Can you read, yes or no?!"
"No."
Tiso's arms flopped to his sides as he stared with some mix between exasperation and pity. "...I'd be laughing if it weren't so tragically pathetic."
"Wh- I'm not pathetic, I'm just-" Chance sputtered indignantly. "I'm not… from here, y'know?"
"Then where are you from?"
...Stop asking honest questions, damn you.
"Uhh… Somewhere... outta the country?" Chance tried to explain. "I'm… I kinda hit my head on a rock on my way here, y'know, so I kinda… can't remember."
Tiso squinted suspiciously at him, but his eyes suddenly widened in a revelation.
" Ohhh , I get it, we have two amnesiacs here now! Fan- tastic, " he spat.
"Wait… are you-?"
"'Course not, nitwit. I wouldn't be felled by something as feeble as a stone. I speak of that wanderer below, with the giant hat and the nauseatingly jolly disposition. Perhaps you've met him, if you've ever had half a gut and gone down yourself."
A jolly, amnesiac wanderer with a large hat? "...Oh, you mean Quirrel, right?"
"Quill, Quarrel, something like that. But beyond that," Tiso continued, "I find it odd that two outsiders both hit their heads on rocks and lost all their memories, no?"
"Yeah, we found that odd, too. That's why we're investigating it."
Tiso blinked, caught off-guard. "I… Oh. Well…" He rubbed his arm. "Good luck with that?"
...Did he say something weird? D-Did- Oh, was… Was Tiso trying to interrogate him there or something?
Tiso sighed, stretching his arms up in the air. "Hmph. Well, I oughtn't to be staying in this quiet village for much longer. Say, you wouldn't happen to know any strong warrior-types, would you?"
Chance raised an eyebrow. "I… might? Why do you ask?"
Tiso stared out into the wild, night-grey desert wistfully. "I've heard an arena exists somewhere below. One built for the like of us fighters. For someone like you to survive this long, surely you must have a powerful friend or two."
"I-" Tiso… Was actually just about on the mark. "You could… say that, yeah."
"I'll be heading down there now myself. Tell them to come find me, if they dare." He took a step forward, before tossing the paper back at Chance. "Oh, and you can have this back. I'm not sure what this "bedsheets" business is all about, but have some manners and be sure to thank this "Iselda" for her company. "
And with that, he proudly strode over to the well and vaulted over the ledge, sliding down the well's chain to the Crossroads below with ease.
Tiso was… arrogant, but he had a point. He'd have to remember to thank Iselda for the bedsheets and her compa-
Chance paused, and glanced back at the well. "...What the fuck was he talking about?"
Home, sweet home.
They had only been gone for a day or two, but it felt like a lifetime ago since he had last laid down on the lumpy bed. In the rather hard and stiff underground of Hallownest, it was quickly becoming his most comfortable resting spot.
Tusk was absent at the moment, leaving an odd empty space on the bed Chance hadn't noticed before. The silent knight was instead pursuing Iselda and Sly's wears out in Dirtmouth's main street. He wished he could have even half of Tusk's boundless energy.
...Did Tusk even need sleep?
It didn't matter; he was flat-out exhausted. They had gone mostly non stop through Greenpath with little rest and food. That, and nearly dying by Hornet's blade, it was a wonder he had managed to hold himself together up to this point.
Still, that was all behind them now. Save for the scars and ripped clothing. And for now, he was content to just rest his weary body. And rest he did. Sleep was inevitable.
Even in sleep, however, he couldn't quite escape reality. He tossed and turned about, mumbling incoherently. His dreams were no better; they twisted and warped in a tangerine haze, like a ship stuck in a stormy sea.
But even in the chaos, it always went back to the same damn thing.
Torn flesh.
Paralysis.
A cold, metal blade where there should be a heart.
Collapse.
But despite the odds, Death had not yet claimed him. Through sheer, bloody, blind luck, he had survived because of a simple bottle of lifeblood. Lifeblood, placed in the correct spot with no forethought. And in the end, it was why he was asleep in Dirtmouth rather than facedown and dead in Greenpath.
He squirmed uncomfortably. It was… humbling, to brush so closely with Death, terrifying. Sweat began to coalesce on his brow.
Stab. Live.
Stab. Die.
All on the edge of a needle.
Poke.
He shot up, heart beating uncomfortably fast. His eyes were wide and bloodshot and his breath was ragged. He could feel his sweaty shirt sticking to his chest and back as he clutched his chest, as if to try and quell an oncoming heart attack oh God , his heart, he was stabbed straight through the heart-
Poke.
A strange, tingly feeling rose in Chance's arms, and he reached out and snatched Tusk into a shaky embrace, holding the knight like a teddy bear. His arms reached across Tusk's small body and his fingernails dug into his forearms, blood dripping down.
Jab.
Chance, barely, managed to force his breathing to steady and slowly pulled away from Tusk. He could still feel the shape of their mask imprinted on his sticky shirt.
"O-oh, I ah, I probably… I need to wash up."
He sat on the edge of his bed for a spell, silent, still holding onto Tusk's shoulders, before wordlessly standing up and walking around his bed and out the door, Tusk's eyes following him the entire time.
Dirtmouth didn't have plumbing.
Thankfully, there was a cave a short walk away from Dirtmouth that housed a hot spring. Chance may not have had any soap, and the rocky surface could be uncomfortable, but it was there and it was warm and clean and not underground. He wasn't sure where all this light came from, though. There were a few Lumaflies around, but it seemed like most of the cave was lit by the spring water itself.
Chance didn't question it too much. He was getting sick of questions.
He had dropped his coat and shoes on the cavern floor in a heap when he paused. If he jumped in now, washed himself off, how was he supposed to dry off afterwards? He couldn't use rocks as towels. He supposed he could use his clothes, since he was washing them immediately afterward, anyway.
...Wait, how was he going to dry his clothes , then? And without soap, would dunking them in spring water really be cleaning anything, or would it just make him feel even more like a rung-out rag than he already did?
The lack of privacy was worrying, too. It was a good walk away from Dirtmouth, sure, but if anyone wandered down here on a whim, he'd rather it be when he's wearing something half-modest.
...Did Hallownestians care about nudity? Their cloaks barely covered anything, and some bugs like Quirrel didn't seem to wear any real clothing at all. Did their shell count as clothing?
Chance's face scrunched up with a groan. He was getting sick of questions.
Whatever. Who cared if he was being stupid, at least taking a bath without soap or towels wouldn't put his goddamn life at risk. He still couldn't help the shaking in his hands as he stripped down, sliding into the warm embrace of the spring water. Carefully, as not to roughly bump into any rough edges-
Oh. The floor of the spring was actually astonishingly smooth. Well, being wrong could be a good thing every now and then.
With a sigh, he let himself slip down into the spring until the water was up to his neck. God, he needed this. He let the water run over his bruised skin and weary flesh, let it soothe his scars, and he could close his eyes and almost imagine he wasn't here at all. That none of this even existed, that he'd wake up in a normal bathtub at home from the weirdest dream.
And what's so bad about it all being a dream? If it's all in your head, why not just make this world yours? Let the warmth roll over your chilled flesh, let yourself bask in the dream just a little longer. Free from the hell of Hallownest, free from the neverending existential dread of home. Chain yourself to this place, forge a heaven out of hell, and float downstream in your own mind.
There is no greater freedom than confinement.
I… don't understand.
It's alright. You will soon enough.
Chance opened his eyes and frowned. Nothing like being woken up by remembering; oh yeah, my life's on a ticking time-bomb now. He reared his head back on the edge of the hot springs and sighed, running his hands through his hair. He had to find a cure for an incurable disease in some indeterminate time frame ranging between two weeks and two months, and his only lead on how to do so was "go deeper".
God, what he wouldn't give for just a little more time.
...Huh. His hair was getting kind of greasy. He oughta wash that while he's here. Reaching over, he grazed his fingers across his coat's pockets until he felt the bump of his glass bottle, giving one last push to reach in and tug it out.
Uncorking it, he ran it through the spring water - gently, it already had a few cracks in it, and he didn't want to break it here - and poured the warm water over his forehead, letting it run back and down his head, streaming between his hair and running over his scalp. He ran another hand through, to squeeze any extra water out, before, dunking his bottle again to-
...His bottle?
He paused. Glanced at the cracked bottle in his hand. Didn't it…?
He looked over at the bottle's cork on the edge of the spring. Picking it up to inspect it, he could clearly see stains of blue under the cap.
...Well, he had a few of these things back at the house, yeah… But didn't he only bring…?
…
...You know what? No. Forget it. He was getting sick of questions.
Splashing the bottle back in the water, something shaky came over Chance. He felt dizzy. With a nervous breath, he gripped his forehead, rubbing at his temples.
...He was making things up. The nightmare that was Hallownest was making him paranoid, seeing shapes and figures where there were none. He would really need to talk to a psychiatrist when he got home. Or maybe the steam from the hot spring was just making him lightheaded?
He reached back over to his clothes. He was gonna wash those, wasn't he? ...Forget it, he needed to get out of here and get some fresh air. He reached back over to his coat, slipping the bottle into the front pocket of-
The front pocket that I was stabbed through.
Chance tugged his coat closer, running his thumb over its front. Then over its back. Then on the inside of the pocket. The outside.
Again. Again.
It never changed. It was still there.
Or rather, it wasn't.
The holes Hornet had shredded through his chest were gone. His jacket was practically in mint condition.
Chance felt the fabric slip from his fingers. He stepped back in the water, still holding onto the fragile glass.
...And a soft chuckle escaped from his lips.
"...I lost a button hole," he giggled.
His stupid chuckles bubbled up from his lungs over and over again, like he was getting high off of the hiccups. He didn't laugh any louder than a whisper, however; he didn't dare to make the echoes of the hot springs cavern any louder.
He grinned at his own dumb joke, and-
CRASH!
Chance cried out as the glass bottle shattered in his hand from his vice grip. The fiery crimson blood was already flowing like a river down his arm, tiny shards of glass embedded in his palm and his fingers. He gripped his wrist with his good hand tightly, trying to cut off the blood flow. If he got out of here quick, he could-
Chance paused. He looked down around him.
Sure, he could heal his own wounds. But if he wanted to leave this place, he'd have no choice but to navigate the minefield of broken glass he'd just made in the hot springs.
Standing naked in a cavern hot springs clutching a hand that was bleeding like no tomorrow into the water, Chance felt like crying.
"I hate this fucking kingdom," he sobbed.
While their brief rest in Dirtmouth was all well and good, it couldn't last forever. And it was with this on their minds that they descended back under Hallownest. Thankfully though, with the incredible convenience of the Stag Station, they easily made their way back to Greenpath.
And then from there, they had only one path to travel. Down.
Chance believed he was finally getting down the mindset needed to properly explore Hallownest. Up on the surface (and presumably during his previous, forgotten life), he had only had to consider the x and z axis. No caves above or below, just flat ground with varying height levels.
But underground, the y- axis was everything.
And it was with that odd thought that they found an entirely new section under Greenpath. Though "entirely new section" may have been a bit of a misnomer. Even now, Chance wasn't quite sure if they had entirely left the area; there was plenty of greenery, but the very air carried a calm and mute aura.
Not to mention the pink haze over everything. And bubbles.
In an objective sense, the physicality of the place wasn't too far off from Greenpath. It contained many of the Greenpath plants covering everything, but the aforementioned haze warped the environment into something new. Something softer, dulled, but despite the appearance, something unsettling.
Aside from the haze, the impossibility of bubbles manifested around them. Not floating through the air, but instead littering the ground in batches. While they did smell of soap, it was doubtful to think they were spun from such a solution. The bubbles were unnaturally large and durable (and pink). They rustled as Tusk passed by, but their pops were dull and silent.
It was surreal to walk through, almost as if he were in a dream. Everything was just… muted.
How did a place like this occur naturally?
...What if it didn't?
This place felt unnatural, alien, despite the soothing aura it gave off. Almost… invasive. Like a tumor, taking over ground to add to its own territory. Was this place a section of Greenpath previously? Would it spread upward?
It was a, in truth, terrifying thought, but equally absurd. How could such a thing even exist? It was impossible.
But… Hallownest had proven to perform the impossible in spades.
He would have voiced his suspicions to Tusk, but the silence around them was too thick to cut with just his voice. Well, that, and Tusk had gone much farther ahead of him.
Perhaps he should pick up the pace…
"...Maybe you'd consider opening an account?"
Chance and Tusk had spent at least the last half-hour descending the foggy, bubble-filled pit, wondering to no end what new horrors awaited them in the depths. More explosive egg bubbles? Hornet again? A monster the size of a building waiting to turn them into bloody, shredded lunch?
No. Capitalism.
"...I mean, for a bank…?" Chance questioned. They'd… never really had issues with losing Geo before. If anything, their only concern was needing more Geo. Plus, he had the Gathering Swarm on him. Did they really need something like this?
"It's only 100 Geo to open an account, dearie! Losing Geo is a terrible thing. You'll be much more confident out there in the big, dangerous world, knowing it's safe with me." The banker, a bug resembling an elderly woman with a large, round shell smiled at him, rubbing her hands together.
Hmm…
"Thanks for the offer, but uh, we're not interested in the moment."
The banker sighed, but nodded respectfully. "I understand. It's difficult to part with hard-won Geo. I'll be here if you change your mind."
Chance just smiled and waved wordlessly as he stepped away from the booth, heading back on their journey-
"Oh? Are you interested, sweetie?"
He glanced over his shoulder to see Tusk, trying to stand as tall as they could, clutching a handful of Geo to offer up to the banker. The banker laughed. "You're a smart one. Next time some dreadful beastie gets the best of you, you'll be glad to know your Geo's safe within my shel- errr...my vault."
"Hey, uhh…" Chance slid back over to the bank as smoothly as he could manage. "Could we make that a joint account? We're already sharing the same wallet."
The banker chuckled. "Of course, dearie! Though, I'll have to charge an extra 100 for you as well."
"Sounds good to me. We have a deal." Chance offered a hand, and the banker shook it with a smile.
Chance smiled, too.
Millibelle clapped her hands together with a grin. "Now, let's do some banking."
"Isn't this something? I'd not expected to discover so huge a Stag Station after that foggy descent."
"I'd not expected" to find you down here, Chance wanted to say. But Quirrel had a point; He, Tusk, and the wandering scholar were perched upon a high ledge in a massive room, several stories high, each floor like a platform at a train station. It glistened with the same pale light in the foggy canyon, but lacked its oppressive and dizzying atmosphere. Old, weathered signs hung from every ledge, and Chance couldn't tell if they were for directions or were some kind of religious symbol.
The ornate brickwork shone against the pale light, every surface uniformly illuminated in white and pale-blue. Vines and bushes from the nature outside intruded within, but even their green and purple hues were dimmed, and blended in with the light of the Lumafly lamp posts. It was as though this place were made with both nature and industry in unison, like an architectural duet; man and machine as one.
"The bugs of Hallownest must've been an impressive lot, building such grand structures so far into these wilds."
Chance's expression soured. " Must've been … You mean before the… Infection, right?" He had almost no grasp on Hallownest's history, and even if Quirrel was an amnesiac, he still might know more than he does.
Quirrel let out a long, drawn-out sigh. "Such a horrible tragedy that has befallen this land, these people; such a vibrant and intelligent age, all turned to dust from the illness in the air." His tone was sobering, and even the uninformed Chance could still feel the weight and sorrow behind his words.
"I…" He couldn't help but sigh himself. "...can only imagine."
They all sat there for a moment in chilling silence.
The wandering scholar. The silent warrior. The amnesiac outsider from some unknown world.
"Seems the dangerous creatures about haven't yet made their way in here," Quirrel finally broke the silence. "It's the perfect place for a quick rest."
"...Yeah. I guess there's no harm sitting around for a moment or two."
Tusk stood up, pattered over to Chance's side and sat down next to him, resting their head on the side of his chest. Quirrel gave a warm chuckle, a soft smile forming over his face.
"You've grown close to the little one, haven't you, traveler?"
Traveler? Well… He couldn't think of any better words in his vocabulary for his situation. But it wasn't like he was just off sight-seeing with this ever-present bile in his chest. But…
"Yeah, I… guess I have."
"It must be nice, having a companion by your side every step of the way." Some kind of longing shone in Quirrel's eyes for a moment, but he quickly blinked it away. "Even if they're, ah, not quite the talkative type."
Chance couldn't help the smile that bubbled up in him. "Sometimes you don't need talkative," he said as he gently stroked the Knight's head.
"Sometimes, you just need understanding."
"Can you imagine this place in its time?" Quirrel asked as they descended into the depths of the Station. "Hordes of bugs traveling about the Kingdom; stag bells ringing; the station bustling with activity and life."
Chance glanced over the massive station. He could imagine it; Crowds of every kind of bug he'd ever seen and then some, chattering to each other endlessly about city gossip or a relative's upcoming birthday or of a celebrity's death. The masses wove in and out of each other, a tapestry of a grand society, rivers of strangers flowing from one platform to the next, people you've never seen before and would likely never see again, every day.
And he stood right in the middle of it all, a tiny speck of sand in the center of a galaxy, holding a sleeping Tusk in his arms like a baby.
"Now only our like even know it exists."
Chance blinked himself out of his daydream and pursed his lips. He rubbed a cool, soothing hand over the back of Tusk's head as the knight buried their face in his coat, and he gave a sideways glance up to a Lumafly lantern.
"That's a special thing, I suppose. To cherish these sights, even in their decay."
The light was so enticing.
"THE ONLY GIRL I'VE EVERRRRRRR LOOOOOOOVED~!"
By the Wyrm.
"WAS BORN WITH ROSES IN HERRRRR EYEEEEEEEEEES~!"
Please.
"BUT THEN THEY BUR-RIED HER ALIVE,
ONE EVENING NINETEEN-FORTY-FIVE,
WITH JUST HER SISTER AT HER SIDE-"
I beg you.
"AND ONLY WEEKS BE-FORE THE GUNS,
ALL CAME AND RAINED ON EVERYONE~!"
Shut up.
Hornet cringed. She felt like her fingers were about to leave an indent on her needle's handle. She had gotten so used to an almost unconscious stealth in her movements; she never tried to be quiet. She just happened to be quiet. Her sprinting footsteps were almost inaudible over the fizzing acid and bristling leaves of Greenpath; her needle and string moving through the air with a silent grace; and she never needed to open her mouth to talk to anyone.
And all of that, that natural serenity she had built up and perfected over the years, was all being chaotically torn down by this stupid, circle-faced asshole in a tiny black box singing something about flying machines and warfare.
With a groan, she pulled out the box again. It fit awkwardly in her hand; cubic, yet with beveled edges. Its surface was smooth and glossy, like a thin pane of glass, but the rest seemed to be encased in a malleable cover, maybe to protect the fragile interior. She couldn't identify the material, but Hornet had no doubt that Greenpath's acid lakes would make quick work of it if her hands happened to "slip."
...Hm. Was that button always there? She ran a thumb over it, curiosity-
Suddenly, color exploded across the glass screen, nearly blinding Hornet. This tiny, unsuspecting, dark box contained more vibrance than she had ever seen before in Hallownest. Her eyes widened in sheer awe at the beautiful colors, hypnotic and enticing-
Oh, there's circle-face again.
"AND NOW WE RIDE THE CIR-CUS-WHEEEEEEEEL,
WITH OUR DARK BRO-THER, WRAPPED IN WHIIIIIIIIIITE-!"
By the Gods above, did this thing ever shut up?
Other than what looked like an intricate oil-painting, she couldn't actually tell what she was looking at. A dark screen with white and green highlights on it, as well as strange symbols she couldn't identify. Some arrows, another circle, two bars…?
And were those… words? Human words. She couldn't read them, but were they the title of the(and she used this word with immense hesitation,) song? ...One of these symbols had to be Human for "shut the hell up already"...
Flicker.
What? The dark screen closed, and she was… in some new screen? Several tiny boxes floated uniformly across the screen. She didn't recognize any of them, but one had the same black-green color scheme from before, so she tried tapping that-
What? Nothing?
Flicker.
Was this stupid thing broken?
"They say everything can be replaced…"
A new song began playing. But circle-face wasn't finished yet! Did she cut him off mid-sentence? He was an annoying asshole, but she almost felt bad.
"They say every distance is not near…"
But… what was this new song? Nothing about this system made any sense to her, but something about it felt… wrong. Something made her tense up, to throw the stupid thing to the ground and run.
What the hell was this voice…?
"So I remember every face…"
The screen flickered heavily, static and colors running erratically to and fro. The box vibrated in her hand, and something broke open from within the screen, a hand- no, a wing grabbed the side of the floating boxes within the screen from behind, and was pulling them apart like the bars of a jail cell, tearing down their uniform shape to reach towards her.
"OF EVERY MAN WHO PUT ME HERE."
The static covered the screen like a thick fog, and piercing through the chaotic darkness, two blinding orange eyes peered out from within. A horrendous scream echoed out from the speakers, drowned out only by this phantom's haunting voice.
"I SEE MY LIGHT, COME SHINING…"
The box quaked, and a thick, glowing-orange sap oozed out of every hole within the device, splitting out from the pressure.
The demon within stepped forward.
"FROM THE WEST DOWN TO THE EAST…"
The creeping orange sick bleed through the box's metallic pores and drooled over Hornet's hand, dropping down into the grass with a heavy slap.
Hornet thought she was going to be sick, too.
"ANY DAY NOW... ANY DAY NOW..."
The existential paralysis finally broke, and with a burst of will, Hornet threw the cursed object to the ground, hitting the dirt with a thud.
She reached for her needle.
"I SHALL BE RELEASED."
The screen shattered as Hornet plunged her needle squarely through the glass.
It fizzed,
bubbled,
and fell silent.
…
…
…
…
"Now, yonder stands a man in this lonely crowd...
A man who swears he's not to blame...
All day long I hear him shoutin' so loud...
Just crying out, that he was framed."
…
And at the top of the world, an empty son sobbed.
Chapter name and summary are a reference to Purple Haze by Jimi Hendrix. Lotsa fun stuff in this chapter, some details more subtle than others, some more significant than others. Obviously I can't explain anything too much but I'm excited to see what you speculate about in the reviews :) It's occurred to me that this chapter took a full four weeks to get out, and to be honest, it's kind of upsetting. It seems like every chapter, in the author's notes I go on and on about "shorter chapters" and "more frequent updates" yet nothing really seems to improve. It seems like most of my writing ability comes from random bursts at midnight, but I'm trying to make things more consistent and streamlined. Please have patience! Despite how slow it's been, this was still a fun chapter to write and I hope to be back with more soon! Or, maybe we'll have something different next time...?
Other musical references in this chapter include:
Holland, 1945 by Neutral Milk Hotel
I Shall Be Released by The Band