So what are you doing in my room? I mean, how did you even get in here? Not walking through walls like some kind of dream women? Or, again, bogeywoman. The evidence is mounting against you Rose.
Pfft, you don’t know how to use a door, and I’m the magician around here. Something bit me the other day, my finger’s the size pipe.
Right, fine, hold on a second; I daresay the world is not yet ready for my undergarments. You’ve not set up a massive bear trap at the foot of the stairs have you?
Yes, so you said. What are you doing – no, wait, never mind. I’m kinda worried about my finger, it’s turning green. And this room, it’s like there’s something missing.
No, see that pile of books over there? Go and rummage through it, should be a big green leather bastard in there somewhere about poison.
No, that’s not right; otherwise you wouldn’t have disguised yourself as Rose. How did you know how she would react – or was it my impression of her? Were you mimicking my expectations of Rose? Well, obviously you didn’t do well enough.
See, well, I think that maybe dying plays a part in this. There is something missing here, again. It’s like every time I died I woke up to less. That’s how you feed, isn’t it? Yes, I remember now. I’ve read about your kind before, no bigger than a fly in real life, but, well, more dangerous. I, I, if I don’t die, then you don’t feed.
It seemed appropriately dream-like, to convince yourself you were in a very unusual lucid dream, and nothing more. You did well though, better than any other I have encountered. You can die, knowing this.
I wonder, I don’t remember having this, this bite before the dream...Could it perhaps be the connection? Argh! What, what, what if I were to decide that only this finger, the infection, if that were to be the part cut off.
Well, I had something to show you, but you were all feverish and mumbly. Eh, it’s only a fly, you can stop hitting it now. So you’re fine now, no more dramatic showings of your weak immune system?
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