✍︎ As their agent, Barry Wheeler had managed to coax a few hit songs out of them before that. Balance Slays the Demon. A couple of others. The old men rocked like their namesakes. The backstage parties got out of hand. The air was thick with smoke.

The story had brought me here-- brought me nowhere. Looped me back. I was writing this story. And in the story, I now stepped into the Writer’s Room… But there was no one here writing.

✍︎ It didn't hurt until he tried to move and saw his leg bend the wrong way, felt the broken rib stabbing him on the inside. Rusty howled in pain and fear, suddenly afraid to die alone.

✍︎ The invisible light of the angel lamp had held Cynthia together all these years. With tears welling in her eyes, she didn't see the shadows shifting in the corners of her room.

✍︎ Alice looked through the viewfinder, lining up the shot. Cauldron Lake was breathtaking. Something caught her eye: a figure standing in the shadows behind the cabin, like a thin woman in a black dress.

What? I don't understand-- (Zane: Alan. You should keep going.) Zane? Zane..? Come on! Well, that cleared things up.

˗ˏˋ Wake was forced to run through a maze, hopelessly sprinting in the wheel, never getting anywhere. His life in miniature! It was useless! ˎˊ˗

✍︎ For her, things changed when they were wrapped in darkness, they turned into something else, something foreign, and nothing was safe or innocent anymore. I'd never really understood what she meant, until now.

(Emma: But I feel like this is how it’s supposed to go. Isn’t that weird?) Not really. I get that a lot in my line of work. (Emma: What do you do, anyway?) I’m a writer. (Emma: Obviously.)

What the hell was that interview? Some kind of joke? "Initiation?" I never wrote a book called Initiation. This felt like a bad dream… Could make a good horror story.

✍︎ Barry Wheeler cancelled the Old Gods tour. Called it off. It was over. He couldn’t stomach the idea of another client dying on him.

✍︎ Without any warning, I was blinded by a bright light. An old portable TV on the shelf had come alive by itself. Impossibly, I could see myself on the screen, talking like a madman.

(Barry: What-- what the hell was that? I saw it from the window-- I saw-- I saw something!) Forget about it, Barry. It’s just me "going crazy."

♫ It was all too much, I had to get away! ♫

There’s a long journey through the night back into the light.

It’s "Return" because… We return.

Yeah, okay, I think I’m-- (Emma: Or, I have some wonderfully potent herbal detox suppositories--) Yeah, I’m good. I’m good.

✍︎ Zane could feel the poems, taking form, shaping things. As he experimented, he imagined he could almost feel the power surging through the keys of the typewriter. It exhilarated him, but there was fear, too. If not for his young assistant, Emil, he would have given it up.

What? I don't understand-- (Zane: Alan. You should keep going.) Zane? Zane..? Come on! Well, that cleared things up.

Zane’s room, 665, was upstairs.