The last thing she remembers is dying.

It was all very dramatic. Lying in a pile of rubble with the concerned faces of her mutant offspring gazing down at her as the doomed planet shook itself apart beneath them all. Unable to move even a finger; feeling her mind disintegrate as the sword's nasty electronic payload got to work. Stands to reason he'd have a weapon prepared to deal with her robotic body, and of course he knew exactly where to strike. Not all bad news though: she could no longer hear his smug voice droning on in her head, which implied she'd done some serious damage to his plans. Maybe enough to save the Multiverse, but who knows?

It would be a Heroic Death, she knew that much for certain. By the rules of her extremely limited godhead, this meant she wasn't coming back. She wasn't the first Rose Lalonde to die, not by a long shot. Probably not the last, either. She hoped whichever version of her took up the flame of Most Narratively Relevant Rose lived in a considerably less stupid timeline than this one had turned out to be. Nothing she could do now except lie back, turn off her pain emulators and have wry inner chortle at the sheer Wagnerian idiocy of the whole affair. Her microphones failed, then her cameras. Rather than just lie there fading into the dark, Rose flipped herself into "Standby" mode….

….then, after a brief and murky dream where she's HAL9000 from "2001: A Space Odyssey" for some reason, Rose finds herself floating in the middle of a crypt with a really garish paint scheme. Feeling fine. Better than fine: light as air, clear-headed and full of purpose. Looking down at a small person who appears to be some kind of anthropomorphic cuttlefish.

The room also contains a throne, some computers, and the distinctive shapes of S'Burb game machinery, so no prizes for guessing what's going on here. The mini-Cthulhu seems aware of her presence, but they're carefully looking anywhere but directly at her. When Rose speaks to them, they gasp, grab a purple cloak off the floor and stick their face awkwardly into the hood.

-Verthandi opened Spritelog-

VERTHANDI: Your Holiness?
VERTHANDI: Is that really you?
ORACLESPRITE: That rather depends on who you think I am. My name is Rose Lalonde. I was a S'Burb player once and I made it to the God Tiers, but that's about the only "holy" thing about me.

Spritelog? Well, that figures. An earlier dead Rose ended up as a sprite too, briefly. Rose had always wondered how it felt. The alien – "Verthandi", apparently - prostrates themself full-length on the marble floor.

VERTHANDI: Sweet merciful Vernorse be praised! I'm one of the nuns who tends Your shrine. I'm so, so sorry, Your Holiness.
ORACLESPRITE: Whatever for? Please, get up. I won't bite. I had more than enough of being worshipped on Earth C. We don't have to use this chat client, though I'll carry on if it makes you more comfortable.
ORACLEPRITE: I do appreciate your lovely typing. So few people capitalise correctly, in my experience!

The alien lifts her (presumably) face out of her cloak. "You can just talk to me? Out loud? They told us we wouldn't even be able to speak to each other in the game! Er, Your Holiness."
"I've got special dispensation. You could call it 'the gift of the gab.' I might be able to fix it to work for the rest of your party too."
"I tremble in awe at your benevolence, Your Holi-"
"Please just call me Rose. All this bowing and scraping sets my teeth on edge. I'm not a real deity, and I'd rather have plain speaking than people trying to butter me up all the time."
"Yes, Your Rosiness."

Rose sighs, then looks more closely at the alien's face and does a double-take. She shouldn't be able to read these creatures' facial expressions, right? But something about the angle of the tentacles and the stippled pattern of orange and green makes her think of a smirk. Clearly new sprites get a cultural orientation update, and hers is starting to kick in.

"Her Rosiness is pleased with your attitude, my apprentice," say Rose in a mock-haughty tone. Apprentice? She meant to say child! Whatever – Verthandi's face lights up with even more orange. Alien banter accomplished. "Where are we, anyway?"
"We're in The Rose!"
"Well, that's going to get confusing."
"It's one of the biggest religious buildings on Khthonn, devoted to, er, you." (Her voice squeaks a little on that last word.) "Come on, I'll show you around!" And the little alien bounds towards the exit without even looking back to check if Rose is following.

Rose chuckles and floats through the archway after her. She's brought up short by the sight of the broad corridor beyond. The ceiling writhes with murky tentacular masses straight out her nightmares. And the statues! Some she doesn't recognise, but others are all too familiar. She drifts towards the red horns of the troll statues with a sense of horrible inevitability. Most of the trolls are barely recognisable, as if they were carved from a vague description. But the sculptor has done a better job on one of them, a stylish jade-blood girl holding a chainsaw.

"Kanaya…." All the feelings of loss, loneliness and guilt she'd been holding at bay while she was a robot come crashing back in at once. "Kanaya, I'm so sorry. I never should have…"
"Do you like that one?" Realising she's lost her guest, Verthandi comes scurrying back. "She's very pretty! If you come here after dark, the paint on her face actually glows."
"Yes. Yes, I like her." Rose rubs her temples with her fingertips. "Sorry, I just need a moment."
"Does it hurt?"
How much do these people know about her life? "Yes, it does."
"I'm sorry. Maybe we should try to pull it out?"
"Excuse me?"
"The sword."
"What – oh." Distracted by everything else about her new spritedom, Rose has somehow failed to notice the ghostly hilt of Dirk's stupid dollar-store katana still protruding from her chest. Her hands are still robot-hands, too, drawn in lines of violet light. "I think the sword is part of me now. I'm not wild about it, but it doesn't hurt."
"Then what's wrong?" Verthandi glances from Rose to the statue, then her eyes widen and her face flushes yellow. "Oh! I'm so sorry. Don't worry, I'm sure she never loved you."

Too baffled by this to be offended, Rose lets the matter drop. They move on a bit, and oh Lord here is the Human section of the gallery, of course. Most of her friends are only recognisable by their clothes and glasses, but again one statue is more accurate than the rest. Rose stands there looking down at her own childish face.

"Oh God, we were so young. I was so young."
"That's you? She looks so different."
"I wasn't a robot back then, just a normal human. I was only thirteen when our game of S'Burb started. How old are you, if you don't mind me asking?"
"I'm twenty-six."
"At least you're a full-grown adult, then. Not like the usual apprentice-soldiers who get dragged into Skaia." (That word-substitution again! Do these aliens not have children or something?)
"Huh? That makes no sense. I'm no longer an adult, and I won't be fully-grown 'til I'm thirty-six." Verthandi glances from the Rosesprite to her statue and back. "You could prototype it, if you like. I think that's why they put all these statues down here, so you'd have a bit of choice."

Rose shudders. She'd forgotten all about the second prototyping. What if she'd slipped and ended up merged with an off-model Gamzee Makara? "I think I'd better do that now, before anything nonsensical happens to me." She drifts over to the statue and wraps her arms around it, leaning forwards so the sword doesn't get in the way. That's right, Rose, embrace your inner child, she snarks to herself. There is a moment of resistance, then a burst of energy rushes through her. It feels less like merging than like coming home.