Dreaming is essential to the function of the mind. Dreaming is essential to the function of the body. The final death has been discarded; the smaller deaths, the little pauses, we are more reluctant to be rid of. Simulation is a waking dream, a daydream. But even in waking there can and must be rest. To live is to move and strain; when strained, one must recuperate.

But it's hard to imagine her ever straining for anything.

This dream is a dream of a forest. There are trees and ferns and moss and rocks, and a little creek, and a waterfall that's only eight or ten feet high. The sky is black and starry, but everything's still gently-lit; that mismatch is the only concession to unreality. Everything else is plausible, except for her.

She reclines by the creek's cool clear waters, wearing a body meant more for anonymity than self-expression. It is doll-like, made of whitestuff like plastic or like pearl. Its hair is dark and flows like smoke, shading the upper half of a featureless face. Her fingers graze the surface of the water, and softly gleaming eyes peek out from behind the smoke to watch the ripples they make. There is no tension in her entire body.

This is a lonely crease. But it is not a private one. Though the universe is large, she could, by chance, be found. And you will find me, won't you?

She's not sure why she's going in this direction in particular. Aside from the trivial infinity of potential paths inside this particular slice of forest, the highly non-trivial near-infinity of directions to take in the n-space of the Dream presents a choice even harder than picking a random movie on Exoflix, and just as paralyzing. Despite this, she finds it quite easy to follow the sound of the water. Follow it through the haze.

Who made this place? Was it hand-crafted or algorithmic? There's no metadata to be found anywhere. It simply is.

Her bright, almost blooming image steps into the space from a fourth direction, a quiet but very noticeable snap marking her entrance. Rest in peace, twig. She looks very out of place in the forest, anticamouflaged; bright, pink outfit, a frilly simulacrum of a nurse's dress, a ribbon and heart over her chest.

She looks around, eyes furrowed, serious. It takes a second to process the image of an avatar near the river. She feels something towards it. Maybe they're sad, or lonely? Maybe they want to be alone. It couldn't hurt too much to ask. She comes closer, like a moth to light.

"Not the bathing type?"

Vittoria's arrival can't have been expected, but the doll doesn't startle. Her eyes turn upwards, and even in the absence of any other features, they seem like they're smiling just a little. She doesn't seem sad at all. Her voice comes out sweet and rich and slow.

"Ahaha, no. I'm being irresponsible," she says. "You can help."

It's so strange. Her body is like a toy, but it's everything else around her that seems hollow and plastic by comparison. Up close she has the gravitas of a religious artifact, of a family heirloom, of your last talk with a friend before going away. Is it something about that avatar? Or is it just her posture and energy behind it?

Her hand comes up to hold her cheek. "Do you want me to be selfless, and talk? Or greedy, and listen?"

Oh no. A mystery. Their chance meeting in the woods was already making the back of her head twitchy with curiosity, but some people are just suffused with it. Plot thread. And as the protagonist, she can't help herself but to oblige.

"That sounds fun."

The elegance and mystique does make her feel a bit off-balance, though. Vittoria's mien, by contrast, is soft and bubbly; light, easy to look at, "pops". A layer beneath, her movements are fluid like an actor's, practiced. Methods for walking and turning your head, methods for looking and looking at. And there's something twitchy beneath that, constrained by the rigidity of her process. Tension. Heavy spinning ball bearings on a rail.

She pats down at the grass and sits, kneeling in the upskirt-minimizing, mildly uncomfortable zazen.

"Hmm. Saying something like that, I can't help but want to squeeze you dry--but I'm also very good at blabbing my mouth. Can we do a little bit of both?"

"Both. You really are even greedier than I am."

"I thought that was how talking usually went! You know, push and pull, give and take. Like a duel."

"Is that how duels are supposed to go? They never went like that for me."

The doll pushes itself upright- herself? Without a mouth to move when it speaks, it's easy to think of the body and the person as separate- and gestures at Vittoria, palm-up. "Just a little closer, then. You'll hear the creek better." Warm expectation. Not a demand, but neither from someone used to hearing 'no'.

"I'm Persephone," she continues after waiting. "Haha, but everyone calls me Phony." Every time she laughs, those eyes shut for just a second. It's infectiously sincere. "Either one is okay, but anything else is utterly forbidden! And I'll start for us: I really ought to be composing myself. Mindfulness, meditation, exercises. But the things I'm supposed to do are heavy. I need more time to be irresponsible than I'm supposed to let myself have. That's why I really hoped you'd come."

It is, plausibly deniably, a general 'you'.

"Now your turn. Why are you like that? Why are you being this way, so on purpose?"

She scoots closer in a most undignified way, twisting her legs and pawing closer with her hands. Even that feels calculated. But admittedly endearing. The dirt and grass slides off her like water on teflon.

She dutifully bobs her head at the order, adorably serious, and makes a little awkward smile at the idea that she's Designated Pixie Dream Girl. Very heroinelike. Acceptable.

The stab through her armor makes her frown, though. Nothing too serious--not numb or sad or angry. But a slightly furrowed brow and a frown, like she's trying to remember a line.

"Well. I'm trying to become the protagonist."

Just like that. Reality is meta; it's not worth making a big deal of it.

"The protagonist," Phony echoes. She takes a moment to think about that. Her head tilts backwards to look up at the night sky, and her hands brace against the ground behind her. "Lots of people think they already are. Not many people think they aren't, but should be. That's really special. Ahaha, I like it a lot actually. What do you think is so important about being the protagonist?"

She pauses for another moment. Her starlike eyes wink shut again. "I don't think I could be. I'd like to be the mysterious space girlfriend, though. ... Or maybe the big cozy antagonist nobody really minds losing to. Those would be nice, wouldn't they?"

She looks back down at Vittoria and then opens her eyes again, not the other way around. The tilt of her head conveys a smile. "So where does being a nurse come into it? What kind of heroine does that make you? Isn't it usually for supporting characters and maybe sometimes villains?"

Vittoria manages a tentative smile at the positive response, before being instantly crushed by the question about her nurse motif.

"Why does everyone say that!! Okay, first of all, nurse-themed magical girl, second-"

She looks off into the creek, pensive. "...My life is sort of lacking in explosions and dangerous adventures and stuff. I mean, I've done that, don't get me wrong, but... for me it's about people. About doing things with my friends, and helping people have fun, and making friends. Spreading happiness. And the monsters in the way of that tend to be inside of us..."

"So I'll blast them away into nothing with a Love Healing Beam!"

She points a fingergun dead between Persephone's eyes. The capitalization is palpable.

Persephone tilts forward. Vittoria's fingertip presses against the warm plastic of her forehead. Her starlike eyes slow-blink, like cats do when they're relaxed.

"Love Healing Beam. Not a Love-Healing Beam, or a Healing Love Beam. Haha, I like that a lot, actually." Her head tilts back, and then back a little further, to glance up at the stars again. Maybe that's just how she thinks best. Once again, the faceless face conveys a smile. "'It's about people', I can understand. Making people happy, loosening the knots in their heads. People are the most important thing. But you're not here with your friends, are you? And this is a terrible way to meet people, going to the quietest places on purpose. Even if you did meet me."

"Mahou Love Nurse, are you maybe, a little bit of an introvert?"

She smiles, lowering her thumb like a falling hammer with a nice click at the edge of her lip.

She is once again blown away by the comment, but this time less explosively.

"Uuuuu-"

She lowers her head towards the water.

"I'm... in between social groups. Um. At the moment. And long lonely walks are... they're traditional! For... some kinds of person. It's important to brood a little when you're the main character. Just not too much. But there were just! Some troubles. And I'm having to... have my lone wanderer arc. You know how it is."

Persephone deflates. "Oh."

"... No. I don't know how that is. Well- I sort of don't. I'm sorry."

She leans forward, hands in her lap, and looks sideways at the magical girl. It is a posture of receptiveness; I Am Willing To Listen, spoken without speaking.

But first, she adds just a bit extra: "You said it was an arc. It sounds like a really hard arc to be in. But I think you're right: arcs lead into one another. The world goes on forever, but stories start and end. That's a good way of looking at it."

"Do you feel like you've done enough lone wandering? Or would you like to do a little more?"

Vittoria inflates. "It's okay."

"...Well. To be clear. I think most people don't have lone wanderer arcs, but, just, you know. From stories. But it's fine! I just had to... be someone new, is all. And, wellll... the way it usually goes is you slowly get together a crew of zany outcasts, traitors, and farsiders, and then your lone wanderer arc becomes a together wanderer arc, and then a... friend arc! Which is more of a superset than a thing, but..."

"I think there's something missing, still, or a bubble in my throat that I need to pop. Before I can really start the adventure. Face the world with people at my side."

"...And maybe I still need a few redesigns."

The pale doll covers its nonexistent mouth with one hand, and Persephone laughs through it. "I like that a lot. Maybe I could be the farsider with a heart of gold? ... No, that doesn't quite feel right for me. But it's so sweet."

She leans over the creek, hair-smoke trailing down the joints of her back, and looks at Vittoria's reflection on the water's surface. If Vittoria looks at her reflection, too, then it's almost like making eye contact. Only offered, gently, rather than demanded. "You're really resilient, I think. Seeing your life as a story helps, doesn't it? Most people are caught up in whatever's happening to them right now. But you're strong enough to look past that. To put it in a bigger context, so it doesn't overwhelm you."

"... And the costume's really cute. I'm almost sort of jealous! The great thing about mostly-white outfits is you might get a dark counterpart someday."

"And then you can befriend them, too."

She grasps the offer for eye contact like a firm handshake. A polite but deniable amount of blush, and hands clasped together on her lap.

"I think you're the kind of person who wanders off, instead of just wandering, to have a little adventure and then come back to the big things. Like a lightly disaffected princess who has to blow off the throne a little bit."

"...It's funny you say that. I like to think I'm all about living in the moment. But I'm lodged on something that I've had to climb on top of, and that feels different than slipping from place to place. And I know I'm still moving... in a direction, even if a disjoint one. Not just swaying. And that makes an even bigger difference."

" Aaa. ...I think I've already gone through the dark mirror part of my life, though. Not that that isn't fun to revisit, that's a nice thought. Just..."

She doesn't finish the sentence.

"And. Hey. You can have a cute costume too, you know?"