You're pretty sure you're not... here.

Not physically.

It feels... not like the dream, but closer to the dream than to the real world. There's something here but you're struggling to grasp it--it's not like moving your body or even manipulating your pain threshold in the dungeon, it's... something else.

You're getting pretty good at wrangling abstract intangible bullshit, though.

You try to force yourself to say something, but it's difficult. You have no mouth, but you're fully aware that it shouldn't stop you. You can't think of what to say, either, maybe due to the lack of a brain--but you nonetheless find words and you nonetheless begin to say them because you gotta say something

"Edison?"

Silence sweeps the room.

"Faraday?"

You're not even sure where you're getting these names, they're just kind of popping into your head

"...Tesla?"

You feel the stares, stern and stunned and skeptical, fix upon you.

As the three become aware of you

you begin to grow more capable of perceiving them.

"Wrong," says Darkness a Marionette.

"Sorry," emphasizes Haunt Butterfly, "but you are quite mistaken."

"DUMBASS," punctuates Hunger the Beast.

"She shouldn't be here, should she?," asks Haunt Butterfly. "If she's in here, then who's out--"

"Well," interjects Darkness a Marionette, "I'm a puppet and not a doctor but if I had to speculate: this is what disassociating with a Choir looks like. Normally exterior Plaire runs about... oh, let's say 90% herself and 10% Choir; presently--"

"WE FINALLY HAVE HER CORNERED. KILL HER," suggests Hunger the Beast.

"Hunger--"

"--You know that won't solve a god damn thing," replies Darkness. "I believe we're speaking with more Choir than host, regardless--the loss of Choir time has been staunched but now we're rapidly burning through exterior hours, and she's not just listing random names--those are names the previous host-- wait, would host be the word? It's not possession, per se. Host of the Choir."

"Emissary," suggests Haunt. "Emissary of the Choir. If we were going to kill her we'd have done it years ago," she adds. "It's truly a net loss if we kill her now, she's come too far. ...As much as I loathe saying it out loud, we need her."

"WIELDER," concludes Hunger. "WIELDER OF THE CHOIR."

Years ago? Who the fuck are these people? "What the fuck is going on?," you finally manage to blurt out. "Look, if you guys are trying to save the world we should team up--"

"Oh," says the puppet, "I promise that's the least of our priorities. We are Grandiose Paradoxes, and I seek to solve the paradox that is your miserable existence--simultaneously without control and yet rapidly collecting powers and resources and people that you cannot possibly hope to understand, let alone appreciate. ...Though I'm quite curious about all this magical house business, as well."

"We are Instigators of Transformation," adds Haunt, "and you, in this moment, in this circumstance are the key to everything--the key to undoing the shackles of stability and throwing the world into true, utter chaos, a future not dictated by the status quo but instead wholly uncertain... a world without order. A world without law, or structure, or restraint... a world entirely upside down from the one you still try desperately to fit into."

"WE ARE ANCIENT ENEMIES OF MAN," announces Hunger, "BUT I HATE YOU MOST OF ALL, PLAIRE STEVENS. I HATE YOU MORE THAN ANYONE ELSE HAS EVER HATED YOU, MORE THAN ANYONE ELSE WILL EVER HATE YOU. YOU. I WANT TO SEE YOU HURT. I WANT TO SEE YOU SUFFER. I AM THE GREATEST THREAT TO YOU IN EXISTENCE, PLAIRE STEVENS. NOT MONDOL. NOT THE MAYOR. NOT THE THINGS OUTSIDE THE DOME. IF ANYONE DEFEATS YOU, PLAIRE STEVENS, IT IS GOING TO BE ME AND THESE TWO ASSHOLES ARE THE ONLY THING THAT HAS STOPPED ME FROM UTTERLY ERASING YOU OFF THE FACE OF THIS PLANET ALREADY."

"...Huh," you mutter. All of these stirred emotions focused directly on you is giving you a great deal more tangibility to work with. There's still a lot of weird shit going on in your mind, but it's... starting to click. A little. Maybe. You're talking to a puppet, you might have just shot straight past disassociating and went straight to losing your fucking mind. "...The Choir requests that you not damage them without permission."

"...Them?," Haunt asks quietly. "Plural...?" Darkness shushes her.

"Third person," Hunger points out under her breath. "IT IS YOU AFTER ALL. PLAIRE. MY FOE. LET US END THIS NOW! FUCK THIS STUPID GAME, LET US COMMENCE THE FINAL BATTLE HERE AND NOW!"

Darkness holds up a hand. "We can't do that, Hunger, and you know it."

"She has to find us," Haunt adds with a smile. "Those are the rules of engagement. She has to find the courage herself."

"Discover us by virtue of her own wits," adds Darkness.

"AHH, I THINK I SEE," replies Hunger. "SHE HAS TO GET STRONG ENOUGH TO REACH MY THRONE HERSELF--SATIATE MY BLOODLUST WITH A BATTLE WORTHY OF THIS HATRED. KICKING HER ASS NOW IN A MATTER OF SECONDS WOULD ONLY LEAVE ME DISAPPOINTED."

"S-Sure," replies Haunt. "...Let's go with that."

You can feel hands.

Feet.

You're not sure you have all your senses but you've managed to wield together enough whatever exists here to have some vague sense of perception. All the emotions they're feeding at you is just making it that much easier; for how much they seem to know (and how much they're obviously keeping from you)...

they also seem to be underestimating you a bit.

Maybe.