I exit the study only to find an abundance of pnt life growing in the formerly pristine corridor. Although not as tall as the specimens in the study, these are clearly the same red and bck flowers as inside.

  I appreciate the scenery for a moment. The overgrown and cracked white marble of the floor carries a beautiful sense of evanescence. Despite the air's stillness, the flowers are gently swaying back and forth; an alluring dance that makes my heart flutter.

  The flowers' heads look almost like moth orchids. Had I not seen them transform earlier, I would consider them as evanescent as the marble used to build this mansion. Fortunately, they are clearly able to defend themselves.

  I gently reach out and pet the nearest flower. Its bck sepals feel unexpectedly leathery and the red petals have a sandpaper quality to them.

  "It's a wonderful, wonderful life..."

  Humming the song pying in my head, I head down the corridor to the stairs leading to the atrium. The duke hanging over my shoulder is still weakly wiggling, but that will not be enough.

  What a weird man, why is he taking such futile actions? Does he not realize their futility? I genuinely cannot comprehend his intentions. And if a crazy person calls you incomprehensible, there is clearly something wrong with you.

  Leaving the mansion posed no problem. For some reason, I did not see a single staff member. Did they all run away?

  It does not matter. I will find a body in no time. After all, Boge is a city.

  I walk up to my car parked in the now deserted driveway and notice the girl lying in the backseat.

  Hmm, what should I do with her? Isn't she useless now?

  Candy corn kept staring at some point slightly to my left, so I turn my head to see what she is looking at. It seems to be the duke I am carrying.

  "Do you know him?"

  "F-father..?" she replies with a question.

  Why is she asking me? Shouldn't she know? And if she does not, then does she just ask any unknown man if they are her father? The two do not seem to resemble each other.

  "No!" the duke suddenly screams, "Don't you dare harm her, fiend!"

  Well, I've heard that one before. She really must be his daughter then, and that makes her useful.

  "Father!" the girl calls out.

  Their conversation seems repetitive, hence, I decide to hurry them along.

  "She is your daughter, correct?" I try to confirm the information.

  "If you y a hand on her, I will..."

  I cut off his pointless and, frankly, ludicrous threat:

  "If she is not your daughter, I will kill her now."

  I would not actually do that. Instead, it would be better to keep her in my car for when my head starts to ache again. Since I used it plenty, it will likely take a day or two but I have been surprised before.

  "You devil!"

  Haah, this fellow is not easy to converse with.

  "Last chance, is she your daughter?"

  "Yes..." the duke replies through gritted teeth.

  "Then you can join her on the backseat."

  I plop the duke down in the empty spot next to his daughter and fasten his seat belt. It would be a pity if he died in a traffic accident. That's too boring.

  "What did you do to my father?" his tied up daughter asks from his right.

  "I paralyzed his limbs."

  Humming, I get in the driver's seat and ponder my destination. Should I make a pit stop?

  I turn to face candy corn.

  "Where is the closest library at?"

  She stares at me dumbly. Do they not have libraries here?

  "Any pce with a decent amount of books will do."

  Finally the girl awakens from her stupor and starts giving me directions.

  ...

  We arrive at a rge four story international style building. It looks weathered yet well-built.

  Before heading off, I use my head to send my baggage off to sleep. It would be inconvenient if they disappeared while I enjoyed some reading time. Unfortunately, the mental effort leaves me feeling light-headed. The draw of the other is getting stronger as its melodies threaten to whisk me away.

  It is time to rest.

  Dreams. None of the others dream, but I do. It allows me to see beyond mere ifs into something more.

  While every if is but a variation of the is, dreaming permits me to go further.

  Will I ever be able to precipitate such a leap? It is unlikely.

  Nonetheless, I enjoy exploring those wondrous dreamscapes: horrible yet intriguing, one a source of soce the other a wellspring of misery. That's true beauty.

  I lie down and drift into a new figment. For an other, it is not unlike the is. The sky and the ground, the sun and the moon, even the stars, different as they may be, are there.

  A cacophony of life inhabits this figment. Life as dull and predictable, inspiring and enticing as an empty canvas. And there is a full palette of colors avaible.

  Finally, I sit down and listen to its music. Unexpectedly, I feel moved. It is a piece by one unlucky fellow named Aleksandr Borodin.

  I need to move on. Dreams are dangerous, especially enticing ones.

  I hope I will get a chance to visit that dreamscape again.

  ...

  The library. Sure, movies are great, but great movies are hard to come by.

  Audio-visual media should use the power of their greater sensory bandwidth to increase the density and efficiency of the information they seek to convey. Yet this is rare, so reading books it is.

  Thanks to the pleasant dream, I should be alright for a few hours. Hence, I can comfortably take a break.

  What should I read up on?

  I leisurely walk through rows upon rows of tomes before my eyes finally settle on a book. It reads: "Diplomacy: A Very Short Introduction".

  Very short sounds perfect and I have been told before that I should have taken a more diplomatic approach, so this should be useful. I pull the book out, plop down, and start reading.