"And if I ask how you've gone from joining up to planning to make a new Mouth in less than a year you're going to say the same thing."

"Once you know the right thing to do the path is clear before you."

"...Are you doing okay? Don't tell me about how you've been reborn in the glory of the Black Pharaoh or you're becoming one with the universe or ushering in a new age of madness, are you okay. What do you do all day? Are you sleeping? How's the shop? How's your health? About how much time are you spending on major projects for your dread god? Do you take breaks?"

"Why do you always worry about those things, brother."

"The material world doesn't matter. I know that now."

"It's my job. You don't look well."

"If you joined me you could take care of me."

He's got a sick feeling in his stomach. He can't identify it. His sister wasting away and people on Nectar and girls in hospitals and back when he first met Lev and he was withdrawing from so many things and Ayers, covered in stiff atrophied Mouths, and visions of a lying god, things she says she's seen and things he thinks he's seen.

"Lacie, are you sure nothing's happening?" I've been seeing things, he doesn't say. He suddenly doesn't want her to know that.

"You never said how you got from starting out to stuff like what you're talking about so quickly. Or how much time you've been spending with your god. Or how you plan on making a Mouth. ...Are we talking about a big one or a small one, actually, I've seen a lot of small ones, they show up a lot easier than the ones the size of a room, I think."

"A big one. The center of our cult..."

"Please join me, brother. I miss you. I want to be together again."

"I miss you too."

She gets close to him and kisses him on the lips.

"Am I not good enough, Oswald? Don't you want me?"

He startles backward, air caught in his throat.

"Lacie, don't," he chokes out.

She steps closer to him. She embraces him, putting her hands under his shirt, pulling it up a little.

Near his hip he can feel something licking.

Oh god oh god oh god

He grabs her arms, tries to get her off of him, don't touch him don't touch him don't touch him--

He does not want to see what has its tongue against him (visions of Ayers covered in mouths) but he cannot help but look down, frantically searching for it like someone who's felt a bug run across their foot and can't calm down until they find it.

Lacie's hip splits apart into a mouth. It's a beautiful mouth. Bright red lips in a delicate pout. You can't help but think of it as kissable.

It licks at Oswald like a lover.

HE IS GOING TO DIE.

Lacie kisses down his neck.

no no no no no no no stop

He shoves her away as hard as he can.

And then he bolts for the tarot shop door.