I am in a pce that resembles a cross between used bookstore and antique shop. The byrinthine aisle meander and loop around for what must be miles at least. Books and knickknacks cover every shelf, isnd, and table; so many that some are forced to pile up on the floor. The materials and level of the flooring varies, but at the moment I am standing at the bottom of a small flight of five or six steps in an area with orange-ish cy shards for pavement.

  I am helping several of the gathered people realize who they are. This pce has grown crowded over the past few hours with confused people that could be reasonably mistaken for cospyers. Not necessarily what one would normally accurate cospyers as they capture the spirit of characters more than their “canonical” appearance. They are, in fact, the characters themselves in truth, although it is only slowly dawning on them as the final act approaches.

  I finish sorting out this group - especially tricky as there are several versions of the same character from different retellings present - and move on. There is someone I hope to find before everything ends.

  Besides the characters, there are a handful of others present, avatars of broad archetypes and natural forces, the child heroes whom everything rests on, and the Sulfurs and Thistles. The Sulfurs and Thistles are something like guardians and caretakers of this pce. I am unclear on the distinction between them, but there seems to be an incomplete overp between them and the archetypes.

  And then there is me, an interloping outsider who should not be here. This is not my first visit to this pce, but for everyone it is their st. I have come to learn that one of the Thistles is my true mother.

  I catch sight of one of the Seasons (Spring, not Autumn as I’d hoped but still a friend), call out to her, and begin walking with her through the winding aisles. She shifts between forms of animal and human fluidly as a dream. I have already done the most important duty entrusted to me and guided the young heroes to the pces that they must begin from, so now I have a few short hours left for my personal pursuit. My constant stopping to help the characters realize who they are is honestly unnecessary by this point. They’ve already begun to congregate into groups of heroes and vilins. As Spring and I pass by I catch snippets of dialogue as they begin to recite their lines in remixed recreation of iconic-and-now-intersecting scenes. My heart is lifted as I recognize a handful of characters that I know will switch from the side of the vilins to the side of the heroes when their moments come. I stop to pet a statue of a cute creature for luck and Spring admonishes me for falling behind and nearly knocking a set of small gss animals off a shelf.

  We both know that elsewhere in this pce - far from here but not too far - the end has already begun. Floors are flooding and the ceiling and walls are cracking open into a nothingness that consumes all in a terrible wind. What kind of world comes next after everything resets will depend on the young heroes.

  Spring and I find a nice quiet pce to rest and wait for the young heroes to find us (find her) or not. I begin to ask her about a Graysonthistle. Or maybe a Gaylordthistle. I cannot properly recall the name, only that it it started with a “G” and contained an “ay”. I am cut off by the arrival of a Thistle dressed in the image of an elven forest warrior in green-and-brown leather armor and war paint.

  I recognize her although she does not recognize me. The st time I was here (several years ago) I stood out in my beige scks and navy blue corduroy jacket she found cute for all that she didn’t want me here. Now, in my gold-trimmed dress with my crook of living wood, I easily pass as a Sulfur or Thistle, or even an archetype. Perhaps the Junior Spring or Autumn.

  The Thistle asks Spring about a question that’s been bugging her. Not that it really matters this close to the end, but she would like to ske this st bit of curiosity while she still has the time. A Sulfur whom she trusts to be unfailingly accurate issued a notice some time back to apprehend a certain interloping outsider who somehow managed to sneak into this pce not once but twice. The part she can’t understand is that the detection report registered the intruder as being male st time but female st time. She hopes that Spring can clear this up for her and maybe even help her find the outsider.

  Spring ughs at fated serendipity.

  I smile and prepare to introduce myself to my mother.