Speechless
rating: +13+x

You sit like you always do at this hour. In front of the fire with a shotgun in your lap. The smell of roasting bear meat fills your cabin.

You sit here in the front of the fire with a shotgun in your lap while the meat cooks because it is the safest place to sit. To your right is the door, standing out because it's made out of the floorboards rather than the walls, which are shelves. One step, two step, and salvo — anything that manages to break through is dead. To your left is the window, made from metal from who-knows-what now crafted into tight bars. One step, half step, and salvo — anything that manages to break through is dead. You know it's the safest place to sit because you've had to defend yourself before. You know it's the safest because you built your cabin this way. You know it's the safest because it's the warmest.

Tonight, sitting here is necessary because of the succulent smells wafting through the air. You try to cook as much meat as possible at the same time, to minimize any unwanted visitors. Who knows what mind its way to you. You do live deep in the Archives, after all.

You turn your head, watching the firelight dance upon the uneven shelf-walls. It reminds you of light shining through the thousands of gallons of water in an aquarium. Mottled, but still—

tunk tunk

The sound grasps your distracted thoughts and pops them like a balloon. You pop out of your seat with nary a noise. What was that? It certainly came from outside, but you weren't sure where. Was it quiet because it was distant, like a charred book finally tumbling off a shelf after centuries of slight shifts of the Library edged it ever closer to gravity's outstretched arms, or was it quiet because someone who didn't want to be heard made a mistake, someone who smelled the food and wishes to take everything you've built for yourself? You take quick, trained breaths in and out, in and out, in and out. Waiting.

knock knock knock

One step, two step, and you're at the door. Who the hell would knock on a door, here of all places? Did they want their insides to become their outsides?

You look through the peephole, and find a woman standing on the other side. She looks to be in her late forties, probably fifties. Her skin is a caramel brown, with short black hair, probably Puerto Rican? That is if she's from a reality close to the baseline you're used to. Overweight, so probably not from around here. Arms crossed across her body and slightly hunched, you notice she looks beat-up and cold, with slightly torn clothes. Looks like some dumb patron wandered their way into the philosopher's den. Not a threat.

You crack the door open, just barely. "Go away."

Her eyes widen and her head, which had been previously craning towards the window, snap over to your eyes and meet them. You recognize something in her eyes, but it passes almost instantly.

"Wait, wait, wait please don't go." She sounds scared. "I think I'm lost?"

You sigh. "Course you're lost. You're in the Archives, and if you know anything about them, you know I can't trust you. Do us both a favor, and shoo." You're still holding your gun, but it's at your side now. You don't want to use it now, but…

Her eyebrows slowly raise in recognition. For a moment, she looks back out into the darkness beyond your home's radius of light and aroma. Then she turns back, determination leaping into her eyes, standing straighter. "There's got to be something I can say to prove I'm trustworthy. I could help you get to know me better? Maybe something like, what're they called? Icebreakers!"My name is Rhea, I'm 54, and I went to college for mechanical engineering! Now you know me a little bit more. Oh, here's a different idea, how 'bout I tell you how I got here?"

"That's not really nece—"

"There I was, browsing the stacks." She had suddenly become very animated. It seemed like the story had caused her to completely forget the chill.


Rhea stared upwards at the ancient, massive spear stabbed into the end of Shelf Polter-Cabinet (she still didn't understand the Library's sorting system, but that's beside the point). It had only been a month since she stumbled into a Way connected to the Library and her world had been expanded by a thousandfold. She had no idea what the spear was from, but she was still starstruck.

What snapped her out of it though was the telltale clinking of a docent's lantern chain. She saw it coming from the opposite direction, then quickly turned towards the shelf and started to pick at the books, trying to look busy. Everyone she's talked to said she'd get used to the librarians eventually, but they still made her pretty nauseous whenever she looked at one for too long. Plus, she didn't want to be a bother. She didn't even know what she was looking for, just looking to look.

Her fingers slid down the spine of a red book, no title, then jumped to the top of a scroll canister. She considered opening it but decided not to disturb whatever was in there. The docent trudged by, its lantern's heat glancing upon Rhea's back for just a moment. She sighs, relieved.

Her fingers continued to dance across the various books shelved here, unsure of what to choose. Something drew her eye to a green leather-bound tome, that is, to the pages of the leather-bound tome. It looked like some had been torn, sticking out of the top. She drafted the book off the shelf and pried open pages that may not have been opened in many a long year. The torn pages she had seen were actually a separate pamphlet, so old the text was completely unreadable.

The old parchment looked so thin. Rhea held her breath, afraid that if she moves too much it might crumble to dust. This was not where she thought today would go. That docent had already left too. She thought about bringing it to that help desk she had seen a week ago, but before she took a step in any direction her thumb brushed against one of the pages.

That is when reality began to melt.

In a flash, the floor, the shelves, the book and pamphlet she was holding, the rafters, the librarians, and any other patrons who may have been near by all were dashed into colorful smears like some great artist had taken a brush and swiped it across Rhea's surroundings, somehow only missing her. She tried to move, to fall back, to grab something, anything, but she couldn't move. The colors began to stretch, falling into a great void behind her, moving faster and faster. She wasn't moving, she didn't even feel the ground flying beneath her feet, but she intrinsically knew she was traveling thousands of miles a second. Rhea cried. The tears flecked off of her and rocketed away. She did not want to die.

The colors suddenly turned to many shades of grey and brown, and in a second everything around her solidified. Rhea fell to her hands and knees and retched. That was not a regular Way. It was not like one she had ever experienced, at least.

Breath rattling, the fear of death in the face of something new and unknowable quickly feeling less real, she began to take in her surroundings. It was a quiet place, and incredibly still. Everything was made of a dark stone, aside from the occasional openings that seemed to be filled with some sort of metal mesh, the ceilings low-slung. It reminded her of the time she snuck into the steam tunnels underneath her old college campus.

She checked her smartwatch. No service.

Gradually, the pain of knees falling to stone leaked its way into her conscious thought. Fingers braced against the wall, finding imagined miniature handholds, she managed to lean into them and pull herself up.


"Everyone's used the Ways. Any storyteller worth half a lick could make something up about 'em."

The woman, who's name she afflicted upon you, frowns. Apparently annoyed with being interrupted. Priorities, much?

You continue, "Couldn't even make up a Knock?"

She scoffs. "Well I don't know what the Knock was, it could've been any number of the things I did. Do you typically interrupt people like that?"

"I don't typically entertain anyone longer than it takes to fire a warning shot."

She seems to remember her situation, drawing back into herself a bit. "Can I keep going?"

You glance back towards the fireplace. You don't want the food to burn, but…

"Fine."


Rhea began to trudge down the hall, and arrived at the first of the strange metal grates.

The metalwork was fantastic. It all looked incredibly intricate, small patterns of metal coasting across the opening. In fact, it reminded her of a symbol she had seen many times in the Library on stamps and trivets and trellises, even a little sticker she had been given by a Wordsmith, just much older. It must be a symbol of great power. She placed her hand against the metal, the expected chill still colder, but was surprised to find it to be highly pliable. She pushed a little harder and found the interlocking metal expand even further, moving in impossible hypnotic patterns to stretch further in.

Fascinated by the delicate process unfolding in front of her, lost in thought at how it could've been crafted, the hole formed by her hand had reached hand-size, and suddenly, like a gear in its tooth space, half of her arm was through the hole and the machinery rapidly reset to its previously flat state.

"Shit," she whispered. She pulled her arm back instinctively, but found the other side of the mesh to be completely solid. She jerked it again but there wasn't even a hint of give. She looked to the left, which seemed to go on forever. To her right, the dead end she had just appeared. No one could possibly be around to help. Did she even have her inhaler on her? She felt fast breaths coming on.

It's ok. It's ok. Don't panic. Maybe something on the other side of this grate can help.

Eyes now focused on what was beyond the metal, Rhea noticed some objects within the room. The skeleton of a cot, a slightly raised garderobe, and shackles. Horrified, she finally realized what this place was: a prison. Despite it not seeming so deep, she couldn't see the other side of the cell. She wasn't sure if she wanted to.

That distraction helped Rhea realize what she had to do. Taking her free hand, she gingerly pressed against the mesh next to her trapped arm, which moved just as easily as before. Right when there was enough of a gap, she stole her arm from the clutches of the metal mouth.

Rubbing her arm, she made a mental note to eventually figure out how the cell doors worked, and continued down the hall. There had to be an exit.

It seemed like the prison was determined to dissuade her from that opinion. Her watch dutifully kept track of the time, letting her check every few minutes how much time had passed. She often thought how she'd go insane if she couldn't track how long she'd been here, but a few hours in she began to think it was cursed knowledge. Her record for amount of time not checking the time was a full eight minutes. By the fourth hour, she realized each cell, which she looked in every time just to be safe, always had one across from the other and were spaced about fourteen minutes from each other (at current pace). About five hours in she had devoured the granola bar she had shoved in her back pocket to eat when she had cozied up with a good book.

At the sixth hour, just when she was about to try out scream therapy, the next two cells came into view. Every cell was the exact same, at least they were all the exact same, until the cell on the left. Everything was in its right place, but the cell was full of massive black feathers. Crane her neck around as much she could, there didn't seem to be any source of the feathers in the cell. Just the stink of old bird. And something lost.

Rhea sat with her back against the cell door, careful not to actually lean on it lest she live out the rest of her days surrounded by feathers, and groaned. First, she unclipped the carabiner her keys and other junk were on off her belt and shoved them in her pocket — the jingling was driving her crazy. Then, she took off her shoes, and rubbed her feet. If she knew she was hiking today she would've worn some shoes with better arch support. She made a snort at the silliness of being worried about her aching feet when she was lost in an infinite prison, but it would've made all this a little easier. Thank goodness she hadn't brought Mikey today. If she ever got out of here, she'd probably have to get a new babysitter. That whole ordeal honestly sounded a bit worse than the prison, which was actually a little encouraging.

Rhea found it within her to get up and continue on.

A full nine and a half hours since she started later, the mistress of sleep tugging behind her eyes, Rhea heard something. Some sort of clattering, or clanking from up ahead. The fear she felt an infinity ago forgotten, she began to run forward. Arch-less shoes slapped against the stone, heart rump-a-bumping, and dry tears welled back up. Maybe there was someone here after all, maybe she'd actually get out of here too.

She slowed, however, after realizing where the sound was coming from. Another two cells loomed before her. All this time walking, she had never considered why the Library, if that's where she still was, would need a prison. It hadn't occurred to her anyone would actually be imprisoned in this place.

She crouched down, trying to move as slowly as possible to maybe not alert whoever or whatever was in the cells, hoping they just didn't notice her running just moments before.

She tried peeking into the right cell this time. At first, she didn't see anything, but eventually her eyes alit upon…


Rhea pauses.

You wait for her to continue, to finally reveal what everything's seeming to lead up to, but she stays quiet, a slight smile on her face.

"What? What was there? Spit it out!"

"I'm really sorry, but I don't think I can tell you anymore unless you invite me in. I mean, is this any way to treat a guest?"

You narrow your eyes at her. "I see what you're doing, I'm not stupid."

Her expression is even more coy now. "Which is why you want to hear the rest of what I've got to say, right?"

Urgh. You open the door to let her in. "You're lucky I own a second chair."

The storyteller immediately walks in before you're given a chance to change your mind. She starts to go in for a hug but you manage to dodge in the nick of time. She continues to speak like nothing happened. "Bless your heart! I swear I won't be trouble, I just need a place to rest my feet for the night.' She sniffs the air. "And maybe a meal?"

"Continue your story, and we'll see what happens." You settle back into your usual spot, shotgun resting on your lap once more. Rhea looks nervously at your weapon. Good.

"As I was saying…"


…a crumpled heap in the middle of the cell. Much of it was covered by a tattered brown coat, but its legs poked out. They looked thin - shoe-like metal feet connected to a thin pneumatic tube and a single metal bar. A hinge joint for the knee let the bar continue up the body, which then disappeared into the coat.

The head of the rusted figure was also visible. Two glass orbs were set into the middle of its rectangular face, one larger over the other, with a strange tree-shaped grate in place of a mouth. It had one antenna, and two vents that covered just about the entirety of its left and right sides.

"Some sort of robot?" she whispered to herself. Rhea stepped closer, putting her face right next to the mesh door, but accidentally kicked something on the floor.

It was a small pile of coal, and with horror she watched the piece that had been on the top of the pile fall off, roll right between a space in the door, and travel all the way up to the figure's face as if the coal knew exactly what it was doing.

Rhea threw herself towards the side of the cell to try and hide, but she couldn't help peeking around the corner. After all, she had never seen a real robot before.

Like a switch flicked, the prisoner immediately began to shudder and spark, lights behind its eyes flickering. A three-pronged hand shot out, grasping the coal, crushing it in an instant, and letting the dust trickle into its mouth. The unmistakable colors of flickering flame began to emanate from its core. It just barely manages to lift its head off the ground.

A raspy, lithe voice that sounded like it hadn't been used in a long while spoke. "Hel-lo?"

Rhea quickly stopped watching, pressing her back against the wall. Maybe it hadn't seen her.

"Hell-oooO? The voice reminded her of some text-to-speech readers she had heard, but it felt so much more real. She tried to focus on any sounds of movement, but there were none. Rhea breathed in, held it for four seconds, and let it slowly escape her lungs. Time to find some courage.

Rhea stepped back into full view of the gate, and choked out a "Hello." Oh god, that was awful.

It seemed like its antenna popped up in surprise, or perhaps recognition, but otherwise the robot stared right at her.

Rhea wanted to immediately jump back out of view. This was stupid, she was probably in so much danger and she was standing here like an idiot. She felt like she was being analyzed. She began to bounce on the balls of her feet. In the back of her mind, she had to admit there was something exciting about the danger of it all.

"Bea-ut-iful."

The robot's voice pulled her back into the moment. "What? What did you say?"

It cocked its head, sight still locked on Rhea. Its shoulder joint begins to click, and suddenly its three fingers are pointing at her. "Beautiful. Beautiful."

In the darkness, no one except her would know this, but her cheeks began to feel slightly warm. She hadn't heard someone say that in a very long time.

"O-oh! Thank you?" Rhea scratched an itch on the back of her neck. This was not where she expected this to go. "What's your name? Do you know where I am? Something tele- there was a Way in the Library and I didn't-"

The robot shook its head and Rhea stopped asking questions. Click-click went the arm, then it swerved downwards at her feet. That raspy voice again, "Food?" Click-click, and it moved to a spot just past Rhea's head. "Words."

She looked at the coal. Rhea wanted to give the robot more, after all it seemed nice, but she hesitated. Surely it was here for a reason?

Maybe she could distract it. "Words? What d'you mean?"

It continued to point. "Word-s? Words food."

Rhea looked behind herself, and gasped. In all the excitement of the right cell, she hadn't even looked at the left one. On the inside, right at the foot of the mesh, was the corpse of a Librarian. She couldn't be sure, after all she didn't think Librarians could die, but the insectoid features and the melted flesh were pretty unmistakable. Thing was, the body looked like if ground beef had been shoved through a colander.

Admiring my work, sweet-tart?sweetheart?sweet-tart?sweetheart?

Rhea's heart jumps. She didn't see anyone in the cell, but the voice (voices? was he repeating himself?) sounded like it was coming from the dark corner behind the cot. "Who's there?"

I see you've metmeatmetmeet my pal. Turns out when you violently pull your jailorjailerjailorjailer through the holes of your cell, they die. Who knew?

Rhea was already back against the wall farthest from the cell. Something was clearly wrong. She couldn't think clearly.

I'm impressssed. I thought my jail buddy had clinallyfinallyactinallycardinally died. But take a bit of coal and thereheretherehere she is, right as rain.

She? Was he talking about the robot? Before she had time to think further, Rhea felt the voice literally move through the air, pointed at her.

So, areourareour you ourareourare our new warden? Took the Chief Archivist long enough to send someone. I was getting lonely!

"Who are you?" Rhea stammered.

"Words," said the small voice from the cell beside Rhea. Not helpful!

I'm so glad you asked. You may call me TitivillusTytyvyllusTitivillusTytyvyllus. Patron Demon of Scribes, the Printer's Devil, Scourge of Editors, Readers, and, most importantly, Authors alike. A pleasure.

Rhea heard a cracking sound in the darkness, like bones popping back into place. She looked back towards the robot, who hasn't moved an inch except for her head, which was now following her position. She turned to look back into the darkness of the other cell. "And what about her? Who's she? Why's she here?"

She's an odd one. I take it you've never met one of the Boilermen?Toilermen?Boilermen?Toilermen? Most never do. They work here, in the Archives, fueling the boilers of the Library, which keep all sorts of silly things running. Most of the others are more meaty though. She's more boiler than man! Hahahahahakkkkkkkjajajajaja5555555. I crack myself up.

Aaanywho, I distinctly remember the day she got thrown in here, because it ruined soooo many books. I could just about taste the after-effects for centuries. My little jail buddy deleted a word from existence. It disappeared from every reality, every plane, even the Wanderer'sWanderers'Wanderer'sWanderers'-fuckin-Library. No one can remember it. Since the Boilermen are already technically Librarians, they decided the next best punishment was this wonderful place.

"Hello," the Boilerman sadly trailed off.

Despite the gravitas he spoke with of the act, Rhea couldn't help but feel underwhelmed. There's a few words she wouldn't mind everyone forgetting.

Hm. Normally I wouldn't do this, but, hey what the heck, it'll be interesting. Boilermen don't usually speak, but our chatty friend here found a work around. Instead of melting down the raw words they mine to keep the Library going, she uses them to speak. 'Course when they locked her up they took the bag, but I guess she managed to hold on to a couple. That bag was on the person of one very PacificspecificPacificspecific Librarian held onto just in case.

Rhea glanced down at the unrotting corpse in front of her.

Correctamundo! It's your lucky day, because I'm willing to part with it, free of charge. Why don't you come closer? Let me give it to you…


"I don't really want to describe what he looked like." She shudders, then takes a bite of the food you had absentmindedly handed her when it finished cooking. You felt bad eating in front of someone who had nothing, and gave in. "He just had so many joints. And his voice already was giving me a headache."

"But you were given the bag, yes? What did you do with it?" You leaned forward.

Her eyes lit up. "Oh yeah. By that point I had realized she couldn't move, so I managed to toss the bag over to her."


The prisoner weakly shuffled through the bag, whatever was inside making slight clinking sounds, until she found what she was looking for. She selected a small, green shard.

The crystal, apparently a raw word, glowed. To Rhea's surprise, a voice identical to the Boilerman's sounded out. "Gratitude!"

Rhea felt Titivillus' eyes on her back, but a smile couldn't help but grace her face. "You're very welcome, dear."

She made little happy bounces in excitement, then turned back towards the bag. Rhea waited patiently.

This time, a handful of colorful crystals. Each one she then tapped played a different word. "Who, You?" The raw words were definitely bolstering her voice, but she still sounded pretty weak.

Rhea decided to roll a couple more pieces of coal through the bars. One made it to its destination, which she greedily snatched up and crushed into her vent, but the other bounced on an unseen bump and slowed to an early stop. Two paths for Rhea to take.

"My name's Rhea. What's yours?"

She seemed to think for second, then turned more on her side. She had to support herself with both hands this time, which to Rhea's surprise exposed the right as ending with a large shovel. With some challenge, she managed to shake the ratty cloak off her right shoulder, revealing her chest. In the center was a yellow orb, similar to the ones on the face but much larger, but what was more interesting, and likely what she was supposed to see, was burned into the body: 305.

Rhea winced at the obvious pains the Boilerman was going through to answer her question. "305? Is that your name?"

She shook her head no, then tapped a new word. "Perspective."

Rhea scrunched her brow. If it wasn't 305 then maybe the numbers could be… "Oh! Is it Eos?"

Eos nodded enthusiastically.

"It's nice to meet you, Eos. You have a pretty name." Rhea's thoughts were split. She had to ask about what Titivillus said. "The, um, person? Across the hall said you did something pretty bad. Is that true?"

Eos looked down. A puff of ash expelled itself from one of the vents on her head. A sigh? Or anger?

She placed the crystals still in her hand on the ground, and dug in the sack for more. "Incertitude. Aged. Accident? Incertitude. Perspective. Nasty! Gratitude, Who, Words? Nix."

The words in such quick succession had an easy way of detaching themselves, swimming about in her mind. That could've meant anything. But before she even had a chance to respond, Eos had picked up the first words and said something more.

"He-lp?" Eos pointed at Rhea again. "Construction, Break." Then she pointed at her legs.

Rhea had always lived her life thinking with her head. It's the reason she got the degree she did, it's why she left the asshole she had Mikey with, and it's why ever since she found the Wanderer's Library she's been miserable. For the past month she's been trying to find something, anything to read. The entire multiverse's hoard of knowledge in front of her, and not a thing that has caught her attention, until now. Maybe the Library brought her here for a reason. Her head was telling her to leave now and forget she ever found this place, but her gut? The part of her she's always tried to ignore? It wanted to help Eos, for better or for worse.

Rhea kicked her shoes off. She wasn't going to need arch-support where she was going. Her hands plunged into the wall of metal and opened it wide, the mechanics gliding as smooth as they did when they were made. She stepped into the middle of the door, keeping it open with her body, and grabbed the shoes. Gingerly, slowly, because she'd be doomed if she fucked this up, she let the grate close on the shoes. A short round of applause arose from the opposite cell.

Ugh. Forgot I had an audience.

She knelt down beside Eos, who, despite not having a face for expressions, seemed to be aghast at her sudden action. A few of the raw words had fallen out of her hand and she hadn't noticed.

"Do you know what's broken?"

"Incertitude…"

"That's ok. We're going to figure it out together. Can I move you?"

Eos nodded.

Like a kid with a doll, Rhea plucked Eos up and placed her in a straddle over her lap. Eos had to practically drape herself over Rhea's shoulders to stay upright, but it was the perfect position for Rhea to access what she needed.

Now that she was close, Rhea was surprised to find the metal flesh to actually be in remarkably good condition. What she had identified as rust before was mostly just the color of the metal itself. But it had that classic rusty smell. Maybe it somehow absorbed the rust? There were other parts that were completly unaffected maybe—

"Admire? Action?" Rhea's meekly looked up at Eos. Eos was playfully waving two crystals at her, which she had apparently grabbed while Rhea was distracted.

"Sorry, yes! You'll have to explain t'me how you tick one day." She began poking and prodding at where someone's stomach would be and after some gentle trial and error, found exactly what she was looking for: Eos' maintenance panel. She popped it open, and Eos slightly jolted.

"You ok?"

Eos nodded. "Gratitude."

"Ok."

Rhea tapped the side of her watch to use as a light and looked inside of her stomach. It was a mess. Wires completely tangled and cut, gears gunked, and pneumatics possibly ruined. It was a small grace that everything else was in decent shape. She had seen worse, but in something like a truck — not a living being. Let's start with the gears.

So, for what felt timeless but likely took quite some time, Rhea worked on saving Eos. The gears were pretty easy, she dug her keys out of her pocket and managed to scrape away the majority of what was in the way. Then came the wires.

"This might feel weird. Tell me if it's too much." Rhea tugged the tangled mass of wires with as much care as she could, but Eos still jolted. This time however, she continued to shudder as Rhea worked at the wires.

"You're doing great, Eos. Really great. I'm almost done untangling." The knot didn't stand in her way for long, but what did take longer was reconnecting them all. It looked like someone had gone at them with a machete. Wire to wire, Rhea eventually found each match, tying the ends together. It was shoddy, but Rhea had to believe it would be enough for now.

Rhea reached for the final wire, but dismay cut through her like a knife. The two pieces weren't long enough. She tried peeking further inside Eos, to see if there was somehow a knot further up, but no such luck. Rhea leaned back and wiped her brow of sweat, accidentally tapping herself with her watch. Wait.

Rhea looked at her watch. Then back at the gap. Then down to her watch.

Eos spoke up, her voice tired and in a notably higher pitch. "Perspective?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I think I've got an idea. Could you help me break this open?"

Rhea handed Eos her watch. Just like a piece of coal, Eos held it in her grabbers and squeezed. With a satisfying click the casing broke off, and the pieces fell into Rhea's outstretched palm.

"Damn! Wish I had you at my job."

Rhea smiled at what she found in the bits of watch: tiny wires.

Before the delicate task of the final wire, Rhea tackled the pneumatics. Before she had cleared the gunk and the wires things had looked much worse off, but now all she needed to do was keep a few of tubes straight. She ripped the elastic band off the watch remains with a snap and, combined with some of the circuit boards and her precious carabiner, managed to build an apparatus to keep everything connected. Rhea chuckled at how much of herself she was putting in Eos.

Back to the wire. By this point, Rhea's hands were shaking. That, plus the nerves, meant she kept losing her grip. First time, her depth perception was off and she bumped the other wire. Eos flinched. Second time, the bits she managed to tie together came undone. Eos flinched again. The third time, Rhea took a deep breath before trying again. She could do this. Eos was relying on her. She had to do it.

Eos placed her hand over Rhea's as if to remind her she wasn't alone in this. Rhea looked up, and saw herself reflected in Eos' eyes.

"Help."

"Thank you." Rhea smiled again. "Let's do this."

With Eos steadying her hand, Rhea successfully completed the circuit. Instantaneously, a wave of static electricity coursed over the two. For a time, they both rested there, letting the prickles of electricity dissipate on their own.

Eventually, Eos went back to digging in her bag again, finally pulling out a starburst-shaped word. "Wow! Admire, Construction Action!"

Rhea laughed, then embraced Eos in a hug, which she returned after a moment of surprise. "Couldn't have done it without you. Also, wow you have a strong hug." Eos released her and tapped her implements together in seeming embarrassment at nearly crushing Rhea.

Rhea checked as the gears began to slowly turn and the pneumatics pumped. Satisfied that everything was working as it should be, she closed the stomach panel and now offered her hand to Eos.

"Want to see if it worked?"

Taking it slowly, hand-in-hand, the two rose to a stand. Eos was a little wobbly at first, but with Rhea's help they both managed to walk all the way over to the metal mesh door.

Eos_image.png

Eos in her full glory

Rhea theatrically gestured towards her two shoes stuck in the mesh. "After you, mademoiselle~"

Eos reached out, and used the shoes as a lever to push the mesh away from the inside. Rhea's trick worked like a charm.

As Eos began walking on her own, walking a bit ahead, Rhea sighed a sigh of contentment. She was sure this was what she wanted to choose.


You couldn't help but give the woman a short round of applause. It was a well told story, something you hadn't heard since before you left the Library proper. It almost made you nostalgic for company. Almost.

"Well that was very nice," you said. "You've had some time to enjoy my fire, my food," you gesture at her empty plate, "but it's time for you to leave now."

Rhea's eyes narrow. "We agreed that I could stay the night."

You laugh. "You said that, not me. I was never gonna let you stay here, figured I could get a story out of you s'all."

The storyteller does something you weren't expecting: she grins. She grins a wide grin in fact. "Well, we hoped it wouldn't come to this, but I guess you've left us no option. Eos?"

That look in her eyes you noticed earlier; you see it again, but now you know what it is. It's someone with a new direction, a new passion, a new confidence. A Threat.

Your eyes widen and reach for the shotgun — which isn't there. You glance up and see it resting against the fireplace. In horror you remember placing it there when you filled the plates with the roast, completely distracted by the story. You make a mad dash for it, looking back you see that at some point during the story someone had pried through your window's bars.

One step, two step and you're at the gun. You swing it around and—

WHAM!

You hit the ground, darkness swimming in, barely even seeing the shovel before it hit you.

You never stood a chance.

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