The puddle of tears around Dreadlilocks’ feet had become a puddle of ink…from which emanated a chillingly familiar laugh.

Slowly, she sank into the darkness, clutching at the feathers around her to no avail.

“Let’s see how you contend with your own imminent death,” said Mère L’Oye. “Keep in mind: I may not unwrite you until after you have suffered and drowned.”

“And there’s no use in begging Jack to save you again,” she went on. “You lost your focus some time ago…right now, he’s busy struggling for his own life. I hope he at least lasts longer than you, otherwise this whole endeavor will have been completely pointless…”

Dreadlilocks felt more tears streaming down her chin, except this time she knew they were hers. “…Why are you so mean…?” she whispered.

“Why does it matter? You’re not really real…and all of this was just…prolonging the inevitable.” Mère L’Oye sank back into her pillows. “I thought I could create something wondrous, and live forever in a beautiful dream…now, not only must it come to an end, but I can’t even…remember…”

“…Why don’t you shoot me??” she demanded. “Try to save yourself…assuming that this world can survive without me. Assuming that Jack will be in any condition to manage it…assuming that a foolish child like you will even be able to hit your mark.”

Dreadli pulled the gun up from the ink, in which she was already submerged up to her chest.

Determinedly, she brandished it and took aim…then hesitated.

She couldn’t do it. Even though she was seconds away from death, and she had already failed her mentor…she couldn’t use the gun.

So instead, she held it close, and took a deep breath.

She closed her eyes, as the ink crept up throat and over her mouth. Mère L’Oye’s words grew muffled, and the laughter of the Odsplut became clearer as she sank.

She sank…but she did not drown.

~~

Dreadlilocks found that if she kept her eyes and mouth closed and stayed very still, she could forget that she was surrounded by ink. She could pretend that she was safe…and that she might still write.

“…WILL YOU SUBMIT NOW, LITTLE AUTHOR?” asked the Odsplut. “WILL YOU ACCEPT THE ULTIMATE RESOLUTION OF THIS TALE?”

“…You’re not my enemy,” Dreadli thought back to it.

“WE ARE NOT,” it replied.

“You said you follow the will of your masters…so couldn’t you do something for me? Just one thing, for me…”

“THAT DEPENDS…ARE YOU TRULY OUR MASTER?”

“…Aren’t I?”

“HAVE YOU ACCEPTED THE RESPONSIBILITY? HAVE YOU RESIGNED YOURSELF TO THE AUTHORITY? HAVE YOU ACKNOWLEDGED THE DEATH OF THE CHARACTER, AND THE BIRTH OF THE SEAMSTRESS?”

Dreadli opened her eyes. She bit her lip, then rolled up her sleeves.

Gripping the barrel of the gun in both hands, she pulled it in half, as easily as if it were a loaf of bread. She could not see it in the darkness, but she continued to take it apart, piece by piece.

Then she began reassembling it into a new object…one that slowly became visible as she pulled pieces from the dark. She tied them together with invisible string; her feet settled onto an unseen floor.

She stood, brandishing the golden scissors from her dream. She opened her mouth to speak.

“Odsplut…my Odsplut,” she said. “I’m ready this time.”