Dear Reader,

I have freedom, don't I? Man is born free, as they say. I'm not a man but I think the phrasing is close enough. Human has man in it. If I have freedom, and can do as I will, then I can open this letter as I wish, too, right? Not necessarily with a greeting. Perhaps even with a 'Goodbye.' It is entirely in accordance with my own will. And yet the thought of it, of the possibilities inherent in everything I do, frightens me. So I'll say hello instead of goodbye as my letter to you begins. That must be why it is customary; the freedom to do anything can be too much sometimes, so people tend to do the same things, behave in accordance with unspoken rules. Life is strange.

The topic of greetings aside, you must be waiting with bad breath for the conclusion to the story I began regarding my "visit" to Fuuka and Naoto's apartment. You should really brush your teeth. Do so, then come back and read.

Are you back? Did you brush your teeth? Good. What about listerine, did you use that? There's a bottle of the purple stuff in the bathroom. I haven't used it but I think it looks very quaint. A mystic liquid. An elixir of uncertain purpose. Its purple is luminous, a soft glow emanating from a plastic bottle, sitting unceremonious on a shelf. It makes your breath smell good, apparently. I can't use it. I'm not sure I actually can breathe.

We were sitting at the dining table. By 'we', I mean Fuuka and Naoto and I. By 'sitting', I mean that I was sitting, and Fuuka was standing by the oven and the kitchen counter to unknown purpose, and Naoto was standing by the door, eyes darting about, not sure what to do with her hands. By 'the dining table', I mean 'the table', for there was only one table in the apartment, and although in this instance it was being used to dine, on other occasions Fuuka sat here furiously typing a college assignment up on her laptop into the early hours of the night. It was simpler to set the scene as I did without these additional details and it suggested a kind of gentle friendly relationship between us that, at the time, did not exist.

Things were tense. Naoto was stressed, caught up in the anxieties regarding her impending work night out, as well as the unfolding reality of Fuuka's cooking situated before her. The future was bleak, the present was bleak, and the past had no remorse. I was feeling anxious too. Tonight would be the night in which I would tell Naoto I was living here. She had to accept that. She had to accept me. I did not wish to live a lie, nor deceive a new friend. This living situation was only the first of my problems, for Elizabeth's voice echoed through me, reminding me of the next full moon, and what strange event would coincide with it. Of course, I wasn't as anxious as Naoto was. No matter what I did, it wasn't as though the world would end. I think.

Was Fuuka caught up in her own concerns? Surely she was. The struggles of her own story. While Naoto, from our brief acquaintance, was in some regard an open book, her fear visible on her face, I often found Fuuka impenetrable, quietly being the biggest mystery of all. There's no art to find the mind's construction in the face. How terrifying it is to accept the daily truth that we do not understand even remotely those to which we claim the highest affection.

With a heavy TUNK Fuuka dropped the crockpot in the middle of the dining table, smiling with magnanimity. "Dinner is served!" She took three ceramic bowls from the press and laid them neatly in a line before Naoto's seat.

"Sit down, Naoto," Fuuka said.

"I, uh, I'm fine, actually."

Fuuka blinked. "You don't want to sit down and eat?"

"No, no, I'm okay. I'm fine just, uh, just standing here." Naoto pulled her cap over her brow, to hide the beads of sweat forming on her forehead.

There was a long silence. Neither Naoto nor Fuuka knew what to do or say next. I, knowing rightly when to be silent, watched the scene unfold cinematically.

"If you're hungry, you'll want to sit down and eat. Wouldn't you feel comfortable doing that, sitting down and talking with us?"

"That's okay. I can talk here, beside the door. I don't have to sit down."

"...Is everything alright, Naoto?"

"Everything's alright. Yep. It's all good. Everything's fine and dandy." Naoto's voice took an odd, croaking intonation on her final words. They seemed to cause pain and regret before she'd even finished saying them, and yet said they were.

"Okay...well, if you don't want to sit down, let me just give you a bowl of your dinner."

"What is this evening's meal, Fuuka?" I interjected.

Fuuka didn't seem to like being asked that question. "That's...um...part of the surprise! It started out as a...lobster stew thing, but ended up somewhere...else. It's still, um, it's still a nautical dish. I'm sure it's full of nutrients!"

Silently, Naoto took a step toward the table, leaning in to examine the crockpot's contents. Her fear now was shrouded behind an impassive gaze. Into the void it went. I dared not look inside myself, but watched, transfixed, Naoto do so. Her body was totally still; the sight of the depths took her breath away. Slowly, her eyes too seemed to lose something. A part of her soul had vanished forever. And at what cost?

"It looks delicious," Naoto said. "I'll have some."

She didn't sound like herself. (Another writer may use a turn of phrase here to describe her as sounding 'robotic', but I would not do so, as I find that deeply offensive.) She sat at the table, poured herself some void goo, and took a spoonful to her lips, as Fuuka watched on, beaming. Naoto swallowed the substance without incident, and the three of us now sat together sharing in the meal, although it was a meal only Naoto grappled with. For a time, the evening seemed peaceful. If one lived blithe and ignorant as Fuuka was at that moment, one might frame the scene as that of a harmonious meal between friends. Fuuka and I chatted away about our days, her telling me about a quaint feline video she saw online, me telling her about the murder I helped Naoto solve. She was very impressed by that, and asked Naoto for more details, but got none. Naoto's speech function had disappeared entirely, and she could only blandly nod in response to comments pointed in her direction.

I don't think she ever blinked.

With Naoto incapacitated, and Fuuka unaware of her culpability in Naoto's mental state, it was time to tell the truth about my living situation.

Naoto received the news very well, it must be said. When she comes back to the waking world, I'm sure she'll be very pleased to officially live with me.

Assuming that she does.

It's been three days.