Suyeong pushes herself up to her feet and heads out of the bedroom. Well, a Suyeong does; the actual woman doesn't so much as twitch while her Avatar gets to work.
Avatar really is the best ability, isn't it? If you don't count the scam stuff like Dokja and Junghyeok have.
"You're not allowed to leave again, you know."
That's... empty. They both know it. What happens when they need to go home? They can't stay here forever, can they? The world doesn't work like that, inhaling and expelling people like a round-robin story where each new author wants to introduce an entirely new cast. Will it grow tired of them? Will the damn Labyrinth discard their story someday?
Their story.
Suyeong goes deadly still. Not even breathing, as those two words catch up a million more, like the final snowflakes that trigger an avalanche. The recent excursion into the Labyrinth and what she's seen there, what she concluded about it.
"Dokja."
Both her hands tighten into fists, one balling up the fabric of his shirt and one clamping down hard on his arm as she lifts her head to look at him. An expression of cold determination and raw joy, somehow mixing despite their complete incompatibility.
"Our stories. The Labyrinth is invested in them. If we engrave them into it, if we make it care about them... It can do what you were doing. The story will have a reader. You can come back."
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Avatar really is the best ability, isn't it? If you don't count the scam stuff like Dokja and Junghyeok have.
"You're not allowed to leave again, you know."
That's... empty. They both know it. What happens when they need to go home? They can't stay here forever, can they? The world doesn't work like that, inhaling and expelling people like a round-robin story where each new author wants to introduce an entirely new cast. Will it grow tired of them? Will the damn Labyrinth discard their story someday?
Their story.
Suyeong goes deadly still. Not even breathing, as those two words catch up a million more, like the final snowflakes that trigger an avalanche. The recent excursion into the Labyrinth and what she's seen there, what she concluded about it.
"Dokja."
Both her hands tighten into fists, one balling up the fabric of his shirt and one clamping down hard on his arm as she lifts her head to look at him. An expression of cold determination and raw joy, somehow mixing despite their complete incompatibility.
"Our stories. The Labyrinth is invested in them. If we engrave them into it, if we make it care about them... It can do what you were doing. The story will have a reader. You can come back."