By the time Lappland had found her room, she was exhausted.

Mercifully, as if she'd had the foresight, the bed was unmade. But it was always unmade. She had no one else to make the bed for. This was her room — her space — provided so generously by Rhodes Island in light of her continued service. Or, servitude.

Lappland fell into bed. Her body went rigid; she hadn't realized just how tired she was until she hit the mattress. Between the Trading Post, the meandering, and the medical examination… she was surprised at just how fatigued she felt.

The White Wolf hadn't even stripped off her clothing. She was still wearing her jacket, and her boots. A habit from years and years prior, from when she had to be ready at a moment's notice. A habit from another life — to end someone else's.

She screwed her eyes shut, groaning with frustration. She knew in the back of her mind that Ansel was right — that she had to be on top of her medication if she had any hope of getting better. Any hope of improving.

…living longer than a couple years, at least. But Lappland was less concerned about that than ever before. She was a lost cause — she really believed that. There was little more she could hope to acquire in this new life of hers. She wanted to die.

More specifically, she could think of only two people that she wanted to end her life. And as luck would have it, one of them was on Rhodes Island with her, if only for a short while.

Maybe one day, she would be so lucky. Maybe one day, she'll have her wish granted. Maybe one day, she'll finally be free.

But until that freedom comes, Lappland could just dream. Dream of better times, from the halcyon days. Dream of the end of her inevitable long decline — when the peaks and valleys make way for one long, continuous plain of forever. A white noise; a flatline. She deserved that much, at least. To dream what she wanted to dream.


But that's not what happens.

In her dream, Lappland was in a field. She was surrounded by asphodels, ghostly-white and wafer-thin and utterly innumerable. The sky was blood orange like a sunset, but there was no sun, and there were no stars. There was only hue, and there were the flowers in the soil, and there was Lappland.

For a moment — and only for a moment — she was rooted to the ground, like a plant among the rest. Once Lappland took a step forward, she felt the dirt and grass beneath her toes. Only then did she realize she was in the nude; she felt the lightest breeze upon her bare skin, passing along her body and spurring her forward, onward and through the meadow, until after what seemed like a full minute of aimless wandering, she happened upon a river, and someone sitting plainly on the opposite end.

"Who are you?"

The question left Lappland's lips before she really thought about it. She came closer, and stared down at the river. The water was crystal clear; she could see the bottom of the river and she could see that it was shallow. It would take no effort whatsoever for Lappland to hop across and meet the stranger head on. However… she was compelled to stay right where she was.

"Sit," the stranger said, and now Lappland was compelled to sit. And so she did — Lappland frowned, and in a moment, she sat at the edge of the river, cross-legged, across from the person—

Was it a person? Lappland squinted. The individual was hooded, and she couldn't see their face. They wore black robes, and a dark hood, and they seemed small. But their pallid hands rested upon their lap, and almost immediately, Lappland thought of the Doctor of Rhodes Island. However… this was not the Doctor.

Not by a long shot.

"Who are you?" Lappland repeated, a bit more firmly this time. She tilted her head to try to get a good look at the stranger. None of her senses of danger were going off. She felt… strangely at ease, as a stranger in a strange land.

"Who am I?" The stranger asked. Their voice was androgynous — neither strictly masculine nor strictly feminine. Lappland felt as though, regardless of this fact, she knew them somehow, someway. "You're talking to yourself," the stranger told her.

"You're me?" Lappland scoffed.

"I am you," said the stranger, their face still shrouded.

"So what does that make me?" Lappland asked.

"A dreamer."

"I'm dreaming." Lappland spoke the phrase, and yet she didn't wake up. There was no change whatsoever. She was still sitting here, in the middle of the most meaningful nowhere that ever was. The flowers, the sunless sky, the infinite river, and herself.

"I don't like this dream very much," she decided to say, smirking. "I want another dream. I want to dream about—"

"About Texas?" The stranger's voice did not falter, and their tone did not change. "About strife? Siracusa, and the children? A lifetime ago — the dresses, the hushed whispers, all that giggling and drinking, the ladies and gentlemen, before they whisked you away to ruin your life."

Lappland didn't say anything. The stranger continued.

"You don't get that here, Lappland. I am the bad day. I am the day you realize just how shitty and worthless and utterly stupid it all was. I am the last day you are ever going to remember."

"Are you from the future?" Lappland shook her head. It grew colder, suddenly. The wind was a little stronger now. "I don't believe that nonsense. If this is a dream, or a nightmare, then you mean nothing to me, and I shouldn't worry."

"About me? No. No, Lappland… you should not worry about me; about us. You should worry about yourself. Tell me: do you remember where you were born?"

Lappland laughed sardonically. "A quiz, to test my memory? My cognition? Did I become a doctor?" It was all so ridiculous. So extra.

"Do you remember?" The stranger repeated themselves. There was no malice in their voice. Nor in Lappland's. She knew the answer, it was one of the things she would never forget about her horrible and beloved city.

"I was born in a hospital where people usually came to die," said Lappland.

"And the name?" The stranger tilted their head, still hooded, still hidden. "What was it called?"

"Is there really a reason for this?" Lappland stood up, sighing with indignation. "I want to wake up now. I want to be done with this frivolity."

"Do you really?" The stranger seemed to ponder something for a moment. "You may leave if you wish to. Unfortunately for everyone involved, I have a feeling we're going to be seeing a lot more of each other," they said.

"Super." Lappland was wholly disinterested with this song and dance before they'd even hit the disco floor. Wordlessly, she turned from her position at the river and started to walk alongside it, into the infinite unknown. She could see no end — the river stretched out to the horizon, and beyond — but she was determined to leave, at least. To be anywhere but here.

And Lappland walked. Whether eastward, or westward, she didn't know.

But she walked.

And she walked.

And she walked.

And she walked…

And she walked for an inordinate amount of time, before she realized bitterly that she was back where she started. To make matters worse, the dream spirit had the audacity to wave at her, and despite the hiddenness of the stranger's face, Lappland knew somehow that they were smiling.

"Welcome back," they said.

"Give me a break…" Lappland sighed. "This truly is a nightmare." She had grown tired of walking beside the river, and among the asphodels, and so Lappland sat back down, across the river from her only companion in this strange and ghostly place. The sky was still the same. The flowers were the same, and she was here again. If the water hadn't been flowing, then Lappland might have wondered if time wasn't frozen here. Maybe it still was. Maybe everything was on pause.

"Do you remember her hand on your face?" The stranger had suddenly asked, and Lappland stiffened.

"Excuse me?"

"Do you remember the sweetest warmth?" The stranger swayed slightly, as if caught in some kind of trance. "Between her thighs, and in her mouth?"

"If I were you," Lappland warned, "I would stop talking, right now."

"You are me," the stranger reminded her, returning to a rest state. Simultaneously statuesque, and ethereal. "You, you, you, this is all for you. It has always been," said the stranger, "all about you."


All at once, everything went dark, and silent. As if God had turned off the world state.

In the next moment, Lappland had woken. She was sweating, and she was wide-eyed and in a fervor. Her hair was disheveled, and she couldn't stop her tail from shaking.

"Fuck," she quietly cursed, throwing off her blankets and tearing off her clothes, "fuck."

She didn't — couldn't — go back to sleep that night.