Narrator X: The ground crew, here in the dark city, is attempting to get some sleep while they wait to hear back from the sun team about the, uh… oh, you know, just the feasibility of controlling the entire sun in order to aid in the expedition’s desperate intention to fly their magic ship straight into an interdimensional wormhole pit in the hopes that it will mystically deliver them to another universe without annihilating any of them in the process. The sun team is looking into what they can do to help. They’re gonna call back. 

Narrator M: The Biological Man is sleeping soundly, as he always seems to do, nestled on his bedroll. 

X: Steve is slumbering in his slouchy squatting position, the lights in his pendulum flickering softly as he dreams. 

Narrator S: Cleo is tossing and turning fitfully, holding onto her backpack like some kind of macabre pulsating yellow teddy bear, Princess Shiny’s distended smiling face peering out from underneath layers of oily organic gauze. 

X: And Everett is snoozing with one of Micky’s half-finished crossword puzzle books draped over her face to block out the eerie sunlight. She’s snuggled up over here beside Ol’ Smoker, who squats patiently next to Everett’s bedroll, rattling and rumbling quietly, emanating a cozy warmth and just a little bit of kinda gasoline-smelling smoke. 

M: Just to be pedantic: there is no gasoline, it just smells that way. Who knows what it is. Maybe those old vintage bocs or something. 

X: And the Granddaughter… is not asleep. They have crept away to contemplate the pit, the all-swallowing darkness where they – all of them – apparently must go. 

S: A vast drifting column of dark globules descends into the chasm, siphoning down from the blob belt, a slow cosmic waterfall of fold draining away to a destination unknown. 

M: Dot glances back at the camp, where their companions sleep among black stone obelisks. No movement. And so, alone in the dark, lit solely by the faded sun, the Granddaughter begins to move slowly toward the pit. 

S: Unlike the fresh currents entering this cosmos through the influx chasms, this descending fold on its way down to parts unknown takes no notice of the Granddaughter’s approach, apparently neutral and inert after an eternity orbiting the sun. 

X: Nevertheless, Dot takes no chances. (Dot) “Don’t think. Don’t think. Don’t think.”

Shhh, Dot. Quiet, Dot. Silence. Stillness. 

With a meditative slowness, almost like sleepwalking, the Granddaughter very, very slowly arrives at the very, very edge of the yawning cosmic drain, undetected by the falling fog. They open their eyes, and with prescription-lens pink-heart-glasses clarity, they gaze down into the abyss.

[A mysterious melody.]

Oblivion. An emptiness beyond imagination. A black vacancy tunneling straight down into the very heart of darkness. A dead wind whispers, inviting them forward. Their black cape flutters. Dark fold siphons down, down, disappearing into the depths.

(Dot) “Don’t think. Don’t think. Don’t think.”

Home is somewhere down there in the dark. Maybe. Maybe not. Do Cleo’s lights really point the way? Who can say? The crew will never know if they do not survive the journey to find out, and it seems as though it is up to Dot to make that happen – to trade their life for the lives of others, to send the survivors home. But they don’t know how. Are they supposed to know?

Release control. Accept the journey. You will find the way. Maybe death is Realization, or maybe death is the final test. They close their eyes again, but their view barely changes. Darkness either way.

So, eyes closed, they turn and glide slowly back toward camp… but sleeping feels a little too much like dying. So, instead of doing that, they take off their hat and sit against a cold black stone facade, an ambiguous bedrock wall, and they lean back to meditate, eyes closed, the faint redness of sunlight glowing inside their eyelids. And they sit quietly for some time, until, eventually, another more gentle, aquatic, bluish-green glow begins to suggest itself nearby. 

S: (Cleo) “Hey. Can’t sleep? Me neither.” 

X: Dot says nothing. They hear Cleo shift uncomfortably.

S: (Cleo) “Dot… can we talk? Please? You don’t even have to say anything.” 

M: Dot sits neutrally, eyes closed. They give the barest of nods. Cleo takes that as the go-ahead. 

S: (Cleo) “Listen to me. I’m NOT trying to collect you for my family. I’m really not. At no point did I have any kind of secret plan to do that. But…” 

M: She sinks down a respectful distance from Dot, hunkering uneasily on miserable, barren bedrock. 

S: (Cleo) “When I said I’d never even thought about it? You’re right. That was a lie.” 

X: Her freckles gleam and shift from green to pink to blue, illuminating only the side of her body facing the nearby pit. Dot can see the light through their eyelids. They simply wait quietly for Cleo to continue.

S: (Cleo) “Even though I was never really expected to contribute to the family in that way, I guess there are certain behaviors that I’ve still picked up. It felt normal to me. That’s what we’re supposed to DO in social situations: find the most special person in the room, learn what they like, and BE that. That’s how the Guilemoths Guilemoth. That’s what has kept us safe in the Baronies, which are constantly fighting with each other. But never with us! Oh, no. Everyone wants to be friends with the Guilemoths! It’s so wonderful and useful and fun to be friends with the Guilemoths! We’ve gotten so good at giving other people what they want, so good at performing friendship… I didn’t even realize I was doing it. It was unconscious. Ugh, I’m like a sleeper agent. I feel gross!” 

M: Dot’s eyes open slowly.

X: (Dot) “You thought I was the most special person in the room?” 

S: (Cleo) “Of course I did, Dot. I still do. At first, I might have– I hate to admit this, but I might’ve singled you out early on for reasons that were… not great, if I really look at them. It might’ve been because you’re the Granddaughter. And because of the whole ‘dark and mysterious’ thing you have going on. It was like a challenge! If I could make YOU like me, then… Ugh, Artifice was totally right. I do have a compulsion.” 

X: (Dot) “Artifice told you that you have a compulsion?”

S: (Cleo) “Yeah. I guess there’s no reason not to tell you about it now. Back in the Fold, when we were on our way to Brocheroug after everything that happened, Mother Artifice sort of told me I shouldn’t try to be friends with you, because it would all have to come to an end when you became a Mother. AND because he seemed to doubt if I was… genuine or not. Just like Steve!” 

M: Cleo hugs her knees.

S: (Cleo) “I never thought of it like being manipulative before. But the idea of someone who doesn’t like me makes me feel… like I’m in danger. I feel sick. I have trouble sleeping. I can’t concentrate. It feels like a life-and-death thing. Actually, I feel that way when the people around me don’t like each other and I’m not even a part of it. In my family, when people don’t get along… bad things happen. And the only thing I’ve ever been able to do about it is just to try to stop it from happening in the first place. I can, a lot of the time. I always notice when someone is acting off. The sooner I notice, the sooner I can spring into action and fix things before they get broken. That’s just what it means to be nice, to be a good daughter, sister, cousin, friend. But… I can’t feel good if anyone around me is feeling bad, so… do I really care about other people, or… do I just care about myself?” 

M: Dot takes a measured breath. 

X: (Dot) “Artifice was always blunt, but he could sometimes be wrong. Mothers don’t know everything, Cleo. Nor does Steve.” 

M: Dot slowly turns their head and peers at Cleo. 

X: (Dot) “I knew you were being dishonest about something, but I shouldn’t have been so quick to assume the worst, not when I myself have told many lies. The fact that I reacted the way I did only goes to show that… y-your friendship… is… important to me.”

M: Their mouth twitches in the tiniest apologetic almost-smile.

X: (Dot) “I know that you DO care about people, genuinely, and I’m sorry that your family does not value you as they should.”

M: Cleo’s eyes have gotten very shiny. 

S: (Cleo) “Thank you, Dot.” 

M: She huffs a humorless laugh. 

S: (Cleo) “It’s kind of funny. Once we get back home – if we do – I’ll go right back to glowing full-time, and it’ll be like I don’t have a Fold gift again. It would be nice if my lights could point me towards something a little more specific than just… the entire cosmos from which I originate. My family probably won’t even believe me. It’s not something I can show off. It won’t change anything. To be honest, I don’t even know if it’s unique to me or if this is something that any old bioluminescent person would be able to do. Maybe it’s not a Fold gift at all.” 

X: (Dot) “It doesn’t really matter if the ability is unique. You are unique. You’re the only Guilemoth brave enough to venture into the unknown, and that alone sets you apart. Cleophee, you… you are more than someone else’s legacy.”

S: (Cleo) “…So are you.”

M: Dot’s expression suddenly darkens, closes. 

X: (Dot) “No, I’m–” 

S: (Cleo) “Dot? Um, there’s something else I’ve been wanting to tell you. Whatever stupid social habits I may have inherited, the way I feel about you is real. The more I’ve gotten to know you, the more I just want to be around you. Not for my family, not for any slim chance of improving my place on the pecking order – just for myself. You’re kind, and brave, and thoughtful – um, I mean, considerate – and there’s so much more to you than you let people see. But I want to see it. Because… Dot, I… Ooh, haha, this is so hard!” 

X: (Dot) “What– what is?” 

S: (Cleo) [groans] “You’re going to make me say it out loud, aren’t you? Do you really have no idea?” 

M: Cleo gazes into Dot’s eyes, jewel pink into ink black, beseeching them to understand. She takes Dot’s gloved hand and traces Dot’s knuckles with her thumb, tentatively. 

X: And when Dot still doesn’t get it, she says: 

S: (Cleo) “I have a crush on you, Dot!” 

X: (Dot) “Oh.” They jerk their hand back, almost as though burned. “Oh, you– you can’t do that– you shouldn’t–”

M: Cleo laughs hopelessly, burying her burning face in her hands. 

S: (Cleo) “I know– believe me, I know! But this isn’t a thought I’m having, Dot. It’s not something in my mind, it’s, it’s, sort of… everywhere? And you couldn’t teach me how to stop thinking, so I doubt you can teach me how to stop feeling, either. YOU still do both.” 

X: Dot just shakes their head. (Dot) “I’m trying to quit.” 

S: (Cleo) “I’m sorry. This is a lot. I just didn’t want to lose my chance to tell you. You’re under so much pressure… But I want you to know I think you’re perfect, just the way you are.”

X: (Dot) “I am NOT perfect.” 

S: (Cleo) “No? I guess no one is. Maybe that’s the wrong word. You’re good enough for me, though.”

X: Dot is looking increasingly pained. (Dot) “I’m the furthest thing from good enough for you. This will only bring you pain, Cleo.” 

S: Cleo’s smile fades. (Cleo) “Is this because you don’t feel the same way? Or… or because there’s a rule against it? Mothers are one thing, but Daughters are still just people. In the Coenobium, don’t Daughters ever get… y’know… close?”

M: There is a long silence, so long that Cleo thinks Dot might not answer at all, until: 

X: (Dot) “There is no attachment that can survive the process of becoming a Mother.”

S: (Cleo) “How do you know that?” 

X: (Dot) “I told you once that I had a friend in the Coenobium.” 

S: (Cleo) “Yeah, I remember.” 

X: (Dot) “We were together once a day for chores, doing dishes in the refectory together. She was a very talented Daughter, so much better at practicing her learnings than I ever was. And she became Granddaughter, she found Realization, and she went off to become a Mother, and… and I never heard from her again.” Dot is sitting against the bedrock wall, gazing into the dark. “She promised me that if she passed the final test, she would send me a message. She promised. And she always did what she set out to do.” 

M: Dot’s eyes go distant. 

X: (Dot) “She could do anything. It was all easy for her. I never knew her name. I never saw her face. I only ever knew what she sounded like, what she smelled like.” 

M: Cleo watches with a knot in her throat. 

S: (Cleo) “Oh, Dot, there could be so many reasons why–” 

X: (Dot) “Yes, there are many explanations, and I’ve gone over all of them in my mind again and again and again. She failed the test, or her messages are being intercepted, or she never meant to send me a message at all. But the most likely explanation is that she no longer wishes to associate with me because whatever happened when she became a Mother made all of her previous attachments meaningless. She was naïve and headstrong to ever make me that promise in the first place, and I was a fool to believe it.” 

S: (Cleo) “You… you really cared about this friend, didn’t you?” 

X: (Dot) “I wish I’d never met her.” 

S: (Cleo) “Would that really make things better, though?” 

X: (Dot) “It might hurt less. It would make it easier to quiet my mind. If I had the chance to do it over again, I…” 

S: (Cleo) “Are you asking me to leave you alone?” 

X: (Dot) “I’m telling you you should.” 

S: (Cleo) “And if she had told you to stay away from her, would you have listened?” 

X: (Dot) “I would now. I’ve learned. I’m trying to pass my learnings on to you, Cleo. That’s what Mothers are supposed to do.” 

S: (Cleo) [sigh] “Mothers… Can I ask you– do you really still want to be a Mother? After all this?”

X: Dot looks straight at her. (Dot) “I don’t know how to be anything else, Cleo. Certainly not whatever you’re asking me to be.” 

S: (Cleo) “I’m just asking you… to be you. With me. Is that so impossible?” 

X: (Dot) “That’s the most impossible. For us to have any chance of getting back home, I need to give up everything. I need to be empty. I need to be more and less than merely myself.” 

M: They look at Cleo with those unfathomable dark eyes. 

X: (Dot) “I have nothing to offer you. Nothing that will last.” 

M: Cleo gazes at Dot pleadingly for a long moment, waiting for something to change, some question mark to appear… but it doesn’t. 

S: (Cleo) “Does becoming a Mother really change you that much?” 

X: (Dot) “That’s not what I’m talking about. Cleo, I’m not going to make it that far.” 

S: (Cleo) “Oh no, not this again. Listen, there is no way–” 

X: (Dot) “Everyone keeps pretending that we will find some other way, even Steve! But I’m tired of pretending. I know what has to be done, and I know it has to be me. Otherwise we all die. And I cannot let that happen, not if I have the power to save you. I wish everyone would just face this so we can move on.” 

S: (Cleo) “Mm-mm. Dot, no.”

X: (Dot) “Cleo, your agonies stem from resistance. I’m asking you to accept this. This is the one thing that I CAN give you. Please let me!”

M: Cleo blinks, her dark pink eyelashes shaking some tears loose, which run very slowly down her cheeks in the low gravity, lighting up as they pass over each glowing freckle. 

S: (Cleo) “You really mean it, don’t you?”

X: (Dot) “Yes.”

M: A strange calm descends, and they sit together in silence for a long time watching the fold spiral down in the distance, as somewhere up above, the sun glows like a dying ember.

S: (Cleo) [weak chuckle] “This is the worst rejection I’ve ever had.” 

X: (Dot) “You’ve been rejected before?” 

S: (Cleo) “Oh, yeah.”

X: (Dot) “I find that very hard to believe.” 

S: (Cleo) “Well, it seems that completely unattainable people are my type. You may hold the record, though.” 

X: (Dot) [weak chuckle] “Sorry.”

S: (Cleo) “Yeah. Me too.”

M: They are both quiet for a long moment. Then:

S: (Cleo) “Dot?”

X: (Dot) [sigh] “Yes?” 

S: (Cleo) “Uh… Can I… Can I give you a hug?”

X: (Dot) “…Yes.”

S: (Cleo) “Really?? Th-that’s okay with you?” 

X: (Dot) “Yes.” 

S: (Cleo) “You’re sure? Don’t say yes unless you’re sure.” 

X: (Dot) “Yes.” 

S: (Cleo) “Sure-sure?”

X: (Dot) “Yes.”

S: (Cleo) “Wow, uh– well, in that case, if it’s really all right with you–”

X: (Dot) “Please give me a hug, Cleo. I’m very sad.”

S: (Cleo) [whimpers] 

S: And Cleo scoots over and flings both of her arms around Dot, burying her tearstained face in their caped shoulder.

X: And after a moment, Dot takes off one of their gloves and rests their hand very gently on Cleo’s arm. (Dot) “Thank you. That feels very nice.” 

S: (Cleo) “Thank you. I agree.” 

M: And they sit together in the silent city beneath the dying sun.