> Your sole visitor, you think, was a strange PURPLE MIME you're not all that fond of. > It was not your only VISITATION, however.

> It sucks when even ghosts have ghosts. > Or were they demons?

> You tend to think it was the latter. > And you're pretty sure whatever it is, it's not gone.

vV Are you vwizard Vv

> It's more like, what is my dude wearing, how is he feeling, what are my snide remarks going to be to my character this time?

vW My narrator tends to be very sarcastic and a little capricious. It's more fun than writing out bland actions to move back to dialogue Wv

vW Narrators also write in second person perspective, so keep that in mind. They refer to characters as "you" and such. Wv --

> You don't like these itchy clothes. > Why the hell have you been wearing them for a sweep straight? > Demons lock your closet, too?

> As it turns out, itchy clothes may have forced you into an AGES LONG ABSENCE. > Or something did. Does it matter? Your hands place down another trinket you BUILT. You've spent a lot of time tinkering, working. Building things like...these little hoofbeasts. > Why hoofbeasts?

> You've made models of most of the things that you can name. Some things you can't. Some things you think probably don't exist anymore. Some things that may have never existed until you wrought them with your hands. > They were misshapen, ungainly. At first.

> You've carved statues and wandered. Some of those statues were ALSO hoofbeasts, and some of them had dates on them. Not dates you cared about, really. > One, they weren't hot, and two, time DOESN'T REALLY MATTER HERE, anyway. > Your thoughts are LONGER than you remember.

>You've left this trail of odds and ends behind you. Sometimes you round back and clean up after yourself. You keep yourself busy. > The pain from the INCIDENT has not subsided. You wince as you realize this, again. It has become less noticeable. More ignorable. But not GONE.

> Unlike you. > Somehow, you've circled back to a very familiar Bubble caught in a very familiar time. > And all you have to show for it are these AWFUL TRINKETS.

> And statues. And paintings. And songs. You regard none of it. It's nearly as permanent as your afterlife and yet none of it lasts. None of it makes an impression. > But it keeps you SHARP. Or whatever passes for sharp in this malaise. > Did your own creations lead you back?

> Maybe. You regard the hoofbeast figure you carved. It's better than the first one you made. Better than the fiftefth. Better than the hundredth. > You should have been a COWBOY. > Wait, what exactly did cowboys do again?

> Nevermind what the rooting and tooting did once upon a time in the west. > Somehow, you're home. Or what passes for home. Also, you're not literally in your hive...house. > You get your human terms mixed up these days. It's hard to undo your cultural conditioning.

> The wind is still. The air is still. Just like usual. You used to be able to predict the breezes. You're glad you've been gone long enough to forget.

> The sounds of your steps are off. You grew used to it a long time ago, but it never sat right with you. > You've missed being alive ever since you got dead, really.

> You grab your shoulder momentarily. Was it a flare of pain, or your imagination? What was that flitting? > Hoofbeasts, you tell yourself. Horses. Cowboys knew all about 'em. Carved 'em for days. You're sure of it. > VENTURE FURTHER.

> Your house isn't far. Come to think of it, neither are some of the other hives you were familiar with aren't either. > HER'S, in particular. Your brow furrows. How will you answer for any of this?