I used to play mobile otome games while waiting for the night bus.

  Never the fighting games, no, I always liked the ones about pretty, but dense, girls who had a swarm of obscenely handsome guys chasing after them. Usually she’d be oblivious to that part, despite all of them being feverishly desperate only for her.

  The focus would be social warmth, choices, and quiet transformations into something perfect and desired. I guess that was the appeal of those games.

  I’m not any of those things in reality.

  — And I also don’t play them anymore. Used to. But I don’t anymore. I’m not sure why I stopped. I guess that I just… didn’t have fun doing it anymore at some point, which is expected.

  I don’t really have fun doing anything anymore.

  Life is just gray these days. It’s not sad or anything; I’m just a little numb at this point, I think.

  The flow of bodies on the street doesn’t stop for my feelings. The city is moving everywhere, all at once, washed in every adventurous shade of not-quite-black or almost-gray. I see a taupe-colored house. It’s the most exciting thing along the route I take every day. There’s a thin edge to the wind. It’s chemical, sharp, and tainted with mixed fumes from burnt coffee in the hands of the person next to me and the exhaust heat of the cars driving by. My own steps, scuffing across old asphalt, are quick and small, but nobody notices the difference between my steps and those of any other gray-clad, uninteresting people here.

  I tell myself it’s easier that way. Why would you want to be seen? That just brings trouble with it. It’s better if people just leave me alone.

  Sometimes I think something in this city could burst into color, pop confetti at my feet, and I’d still just keep looking at my shoes. My uniform is a threadbare, anonymous gray skirt with a slightly too-big jacket and socks not quite matching in length. My clothes blend perfectly into all the background blur and dim glass I move through. Even my cellphone case is just a faded navy. I used to have a little charm on it a friend gave me back in school. But it fell off sometime, and I lost it. Anyway, that person hasn’t talked to me in years. I don’t remember the last time I wore pink, or blue, or… well, anything that isn’t some kind of monochrome. Would that have changed anything? Would life be any different if I were a little less neutral and a little more… I don’t know, vibrant?

  Girlish, maybe? Would that have let me be seen? Or would that have just gotten me noticed?

  — They’re different things, you know.

  I wish, sometimes, there could be an entrance cue for people like me who are trapped behind their own shadows to a big teleportation machine that would take us to another, better world. Maybe sweeping orchestral music would accompany me after I stepped into it, and I’d feel something for the first time in years. There would be a magical animal companion waiting to spend its days with me as we become the best of friends. Maybe that other world would be the sort of otome I always chose for comfort when I was still able to find it: the cheerful, sparkling world where my choices mattered and affection was real, where someday I’d be more than supporting cast for my own failures.

  — But even in that fantasy, I settle for gray. It’s funny.

  In my imagination, I picture all of that. It’s a fantasy, right? But somehow, even there, the music is dull. The animal companion is a dead pigeon. I myself resemble both of them. My new body is just a blob.

  I sigh. My mind has been tainted. There isn’t anything colorful left in me.

  There’s a ripple of tired laughter at the corner; someone tells a joke I can’t hear, and the group moves away. I know they aren’t, but for a second I think they’re laughing at me. That’s always the first thing I think when I hear people laughing anywhere.

  The space around me stays stubbornly full of people I’ll never know.

  I grasp my wet bag with both hands and turn at the red-washed crosswalk. People push past, road salt scratches at my soles, and the wind cuts the last warmth from the day. My chest tightens. I erase all of my fantasies from my mind. I’m not the kind of person a story would pick for a second chance.

  I’m the person who gets left behind while someone else goes on that adventure. This here is all that I’ll ever have, be, and get. I am gray and alone, and I have damp feet.

  The traffic lights blink. My mind wanders: breakfast tomorrow, the smallest cup of coffee.

  If I could make a wish for anything, then I’d want to be someone else.

  I want to be someone special, and if that’s too much to ask, I just maybe want to be someone who gets seen, not noticed. For real, seen. I want someone to really, really see me for who I am and not… this.

  Lights flare. I stop in the middle of the crosswalk, frozen, turning my head.

  A truck.

  When the crunch comes, it’s quick. The brisk braying of a horn, the grind of rubber, and the flash of oncoming light tears me away.

  I fly, the truck that hit me screeching on its brakes too late as it hammers over the crosswalk, skidding off to crash into a lamp. I land. Something cracks. After the screaming settles down, people are all around me.

  Wow.

  I’m dying.

  Everything is fading. My vision is going black. I lie on the street, broken, and look one last time around myself to see if they can do it now, if they can see me. Everyone is looking; I feel happy for a second. Is that weird?

  Just this once. Please.

  I see that they’re looking at me. Someone covers their mouth. A child cries. A man points a phone at me as I lie there on the street in a puddle of my blood that mixes in with the street sludge and takes a photo. The click of the camera is audible, and the flash isn’t even hidden.

  …Damn it.

  I can’t do this again. Please, if there is something like reincarnation, put me anywhere. Anywhere. As long as there’s something that’s just… colorful. I want to be colorful. I want to be warm. I want someone to see me.

  I die, regardless of what I want. None of that ever really mattered before, so why would it do so now?

  There’s a jolt and cold, and the world pulls itself away.

  Everything is black.

  — I’m not really surprised about that.

  I float.

  There is a hush and then a radiance. I feel warm, layered, and slow. It’s like I’m under a weighted blanket. But the contrasting sensation of myself drifting upward is odd.

  I feel scattered into something syrupy, comfortable, and soft.

  I feel, for an impossible, blooming instant, that my chest is filled with… flowers.

  They smell so pretty.

  My eyes squint apart to brightness, not white hospital light, but to a world lit in vividly watercolored tones.

  I am not where I was.

  There is no city, no towers or cars, only the deep-green cradle of a glade, grass thick as velvet under the sunlight, wildflowers swaying in a breeze that carries the scent of honeycomb and… cinnamon? Interesting. The air is sharp and sweet. A sensation, startling and alive, comes at me with an invitation to fully open my eyes.

  I do. But it’s hard. I have to shield them. It’s so bright.

  Everything here brims with color. Petals dance with pastel allure, dew beads shine mirror-clear, and a chorus of birdsong twines through each shaft of warm, golden sunlight. The world is adorable, in the truest, most excessive sense. My whole ‘self’ is reduced, distilled: every softness made visible, every edge sanded down by care and a childish joy.

  Is this… Is this Heaven?

  A glassy window of sorts appears in the middle of the air and hovers there. It reminds me of a system screen from my old games. The two-dimensional window lingers in my field of view, floaty and glassy at the edges. “Sunlit Glade,” I murmur to myself. “That’s… nice. This is real, right?” I reach out a stubby paw to touch one particularly fluffy daffodil and then blink, pulling back.

  I have paws.

  I do a full inventory of my, uh, inventory — wiggling, stretching, blinking. I have small, plush, perfectly huggable arms. White fur, thick and dream-soft like a bear from a laundry commercial, covers my body from my head to my stubby, pink-tipped toes. A heart-shaped mouth and nose sit on my squishy face. I even have wings!

  …Well, ‘wings’ is generous. They’re more like tiny cherub fluff doodles stuck to my back. “Okay, that’s adorable,” I say out loud, halfway laughing.

  I catch myself laughing, stopping myself out of habit, as if I had just committed a grave sin.

  What is this?

  I feel so… light. I touch myself, squishing my head, chest, and body. They compress, like I was smushing a plushie. It’s so squishy. It’s satisfying. I laugh, feeling the feeling of compression on me. It feels like a hug.

  Wait. No.

  Catching myself laughing again, I put on my meanest face out of old instinct.

  — I don’t think it’s very frightening, though.

  System windows? A new body? A new place? My mind races. It’s happened; it’s finally happened. I’ve reincarnated into another world!

  “This has to be it. Or a dream. Maybe a… magical plush mascot horror game?” I muse, half alerted as my old senses interweave with this new brain that I feel in my head. My bitterness is being replaced. I try to fight it. But I can’t. It’s like someone has dumped a bucket of paint inside of my skull. I can feel it washing over me in horror, in true fear. It’s like a corruption of my soul, a poison.

  — Positivity.

  On that note, I’m not entirely sure I actually have a physical brain and am not just a stuffed toy. I will hold off on finding out for now.

  A cute, bubbly halo of many colors wobbles above my head, however, spinning in lazy circles independent of my movements. There’s always a little second-long delay after I move my head before it follows after me.

  It’s actually kind of fun. I stand there for a minute, just bobbing around, watching it trail after me. Haha!

  When I try to stand, I float off the ground for a second, then settle again as if I were just only barely tethered by gravity. “I’m seriously… round. What am I? What am I doing here?” I speak softly, and the sun seems to answer with only a shine that sickers into my fluff, where it stays trapped and warms me even more. “Well, whatever I am, I’m not gray anymore. That’s for sure,” I note, looking down at myself.

  I’m a sort of… whitish fluff, but it catches all of the colors of the meadow around me. The tones of the flowers and the yellows of the sun stay trapped on my exterior, as if I were a canvas.

  I part the fur in some other more specific places, looking more closely to complete my medical examination of this thing that I have become.

  — I won’t tell you about that.

  But I squint and smile afterward, delighted and slightly mortified at my own reflection in a perfect drop of dew that sits on a flower. Both of them are very large, comically so.

  The flower and the dewdrop, that is.

  My face is round, fat-cheeked, blue-violet-eyed, with big fuzzy bangs of many colors and a face absolutely made for squishing. By my legs, something stiff juts out of my fluff. It’s firm, rigid, and hard.

  I pull on it.

  It unsheathes from my fluffy storage. It’s a delicately ribboned rod. No, it’s a wand. It’s tipped in a golden, chunky, five-pointed star with round edges.

  Magic? Is this really a magical world? I guess it has to be.

  “Cuteness must be my main stat,” I mutter, actually just joking about it. A voice in the back of my head ponders if I haven’t reincarnated as some prey animal and am about to be devoured alive. “What’s my build, then? Healer?” I guess. “Party mascot? I bet my strongest weapon is literally a hug,” I joke.

  It startles me — not the sound, but the sense of lightness in my voice.

  For once, I find myself wanting to see what I’m capable of. Maybe just for the sake of morbid curiosity.

  I close one eye and focus, trying the only trick I remember from too many otome game menus. “Um. Status window?”

  I blink at the ‘Dungeon Core’ part. “What does that mean?”

  Dungeons are full of scary monsters, right?

  I was pretty good at picking routes in games, but I usually chose the romance paths, not… whatever dungeons were involved in. Combat?

  I guess ‘Cherish’ is my new name. Fitting.

  Anyway, I was never good at fighting in those games. I don’t know why; I just couldn’t figure it out. I always chose the romance routes, personally, and had my harem kill everything for me.

  But dungeons are what my love-slaves went into to plunder. Being on the other side of that equation gets my mind thinking. “Should I be building traps, or… crafting magical defenses? Oh… so I’m not the hero class. I’m the… dungeon? Uh.” The core window blinks cheerfully, delightful sparkles adding insult to my harmlessness as it closes itself with a cheery ‘plink.’

  Somewhere in the distance, a rainbow rises, declaring my arrival. I glare at it scornfully.

  “Nurture… Fluff Aura… boosted by hugs and kisses? Is this a joke from the developers, or am I the world’s worst dungeon?” I rub my head, thinking.

  Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

  Cuteness is actually, literally, my core stat. I mean, I appreciate the compliment from the universe, but what am I supposed to do with that?

  I look down behind myself, seeing if there is any potential to seduce some brave knight into doing my bidding. I shake my oddly fluffy tushie in inspection. My eyes fall dry, unimpressed.

  — There is no hope. And if there was, he’s not the kind of person I want around me. I stare blankly, looking at my little fluffy bottom.

  I’m screwed. Looking around for a sharp stick I could stab and kill something with, I instead see my wand again in my paws.

  I swish it around, not expecting anything.

  It makes the sound of giggling children. Colorful sparkles come from its star, as if it were raining crackling fireworks. A small rainbow trail floats behind it in the air, fading away in a gentle departure.

  I am mortified.

  What do otome heroines say at the start of a novel when they test out their powers to see if they’ll work…? ‘Please work’?” I joke, flicking my left paw at a clump of grass — this always works in the novels. “Let’s see if you do anything.”

  I swing the wand around.

  It giggles more. I don’t like it. Annoyed, I grab it on both ends and start bending it like a stick I want to break.

  — It makes cooing baby sounds.

  I don’t like that either. Maybe I actually went to Hell, and I was mistaken before?

  Sighing, I focus. With an awkward, halting gesture, I wave my wand and quietly declare… just… anything. A flower catches my eye. Didn’t I have an ability listed in that menu before? “Nurture?” I say, questioningly, and I bop the ground.

  My new form quivers as gentle magic spins outward from my paw and through the wand. I inadvertently let out a cute little giggle into my hands like a child up to no good.

  …Why did I do that?

  A swirl of light, blushing pastel, zings across damp greenery, where a large, lovingly thick-petaled flower instantly erupts from the grass. Its petals curl out, pink with glittery gold striations, haloed by the most inviting glow. It smells, I swear, of warmth and sugar and something innocent, like a memory that I can’t place.

  It’s nostalgic.

  “I did magic,” I mutter. I tilt my head. “I did magic, and it’s cute,” I whisper, beaming down at my own work. “You are adorable. Five stars. Would-magic-again,” I say to the flower.

  With deep guilt, I catch myself smiling, even when my insides are still desperately trying to maintain my usual, socially acceptable, neutrally sour scowl.

  “I love you, Mother,” replies the flower in the gravely, harsh voice of an Estonian lumberjack.

  I do not like it.

  Nonetheless, like a polygamous necromancer who had just sewn his dead wives back together, I bend down to admire my horrific creation with awe. I nearly lose my balance and lean my face into its soft bloom to smell its head. “Can I eat you?” I ask the flower in jest, then snort at myself for talking to a plant. How silly! “No, no, don’t be weird on your first day,” I tell myself, muttering.

  The flower speaks to me in a gruff, masculine tone that rattles the dirt at its roots. “I cherish you, Mother,” it says, lifting its petals toward me. “Devour me,” it offers in a thick accent.

  I stare blankly and then rise again.

  This was a mistake.

  The flower turns, looking behind itself toward the forest that surrounds us that I now pay attention to for the first time. It’s dark. “A beast approaches,” growls my petaled creation in the candor of a grizzled Slavic bear hunter. “There is danger,” it rumbles like a war-veteran old-country grandfather with a smoking addiction.

  I look. In the distance, a subtle suggestion of a threat creeps between the safe lines of the glade. I can feel it in my gut. I have some sense of being watched from afar.

  There is a hush. The wind sits still. My light, soft fur stops moving, so I can tell the wind has stopped by that.

  At the edge of the sanctuary, leaves rattle, then stutter to stillness as they settle.

  I feel nervous.

  Suddenly, a wild animal jostles past the blooms! A rabbit, but not any that belong in my childhood petting zoo memories. Instead, its fur is a knotted mess, streaked with something glossy and too dark; its eyes shimmer and curl, red-lit and hungry. There’s a sour violence in its lurch as it launches into a blur. A tangle of inky miasma drips from its nose to its thundering paws that hammer over the soil.

  It has me in its sights.

  I yelp, adorably, in surprise as the shadow lunges my way with horrifying speed.

  My body reacts before I can. I stumble back. I scramble to strike it away with my wand. But I’m useless, and the wand slips and slides out from my paws and skids into the grass, leaving me unarmed. The rabbit dodges my projectile, hissing. A sharp, twisted, too-human sound comes from its exhalation as it leaps at me.

  I throw up my delightfully chubby paws to shield my cute face, half wanting to cry. Why am I so useless?

  “Mother, no!” yells my flower.

  “Ultimate cuddle defense!” My voice breaks, the spell unlocking in a pulse of urgent hope as the rabbit leaps at me and bites. Its teeth don’t manage to get through my thick, soft, plushy body. My arms wrap around the little attacker in an embrace. “Nurture!” I shout as the little monster tries to chew through my fur to my jugular.

  Magic, all soft blue and yellow ribbons, unspools out of me. Waves upon waves of nurturing magic escape my core. My new desires ignite: healing, comfort, and an urge to make everything gentle and whole.

  The corruption oozing out of the bunny steams and writhes, recoiling from my light, peeling back as if heat-washed. The animal drops out from my tender embrace as my first, still-unhugged child stares at us from below, its petals reaching up to share in what love I have to offer a stranger, but not it. “Mother,” cries the flower, frightened.

  I ignore it. It disturbs me.

  The rabbit’s tension dissolves, its muscles going slack. Inky ooze hisses and slides down the animal’s body like a living shadow that is retreating away. That gunk pools at the edge of the glade before seeping away back into the forest, and the air loses the sharp edge of fear.

  Living, black slime crawls away back into the shadows outside of my glade.

  Just like that, the wind begins again. My fur moves, soft and mellow.

  The rabbit’s eyes clear into a gentle, soft red like fresh roses. Its body, small again, breathes slowly and quietly. It looks okay as I reach down to the ground to prod it.

  — The flower reaches up, thinking I will take it into my arms.

  I do not. I take the rabbit.

  My plush chest trembles in an echo of adrenaline as I see that I didn’t kill some random animal. “Oh. Oh, thank goodness.”

  “Don’t you love me anymore?” gruffs the flower, as if speaking to his wife and the mother of their three children, who only stays with him anymore for their sake. Like her, I pretend I can’t hear his voice.

  I hold the rabbit, nervous, but my desire for connection to something is greater. I have an urge in my chest. A desire. I want to… nurture. My paw rests gently on the rabbit’s back. Its fur is soft and a brighter brown than before, with a white flash at one ear. For a moment, I pet it, and the creature stretches. Its breathing is as soft as a lullaby.

  It’s cute! Bunnies are cute. I smile, deciding to give it a name.

  “Madam Bunbun Ears!” I say happily, holding her up into the air to show the world my new favorite thing. The rabbit’s shadow hangs over the flower. In the otome genre, royalty is a very common topic. Usually the main character becomes a spoiled princess or the beloved daughter of a powerful, dark count who only shows his soft side for her.

  But then I stop, staring at an oddity, and lower him down again, for the sake of his dignity. “Sir Bunbun Ears,” I correct after I notice what I had missed on my first inspection. I do let out a small giggle, though.

  How do guy-rabbits even hop around the world like that? It must be a real problem. They don’t have a lot of ground clearance as is. I’ve never thought about it before.

  ‘Bunbun’ stirs, eyes blinking wide, and then gives a slow, careful hop around in my arms, fighting to be put down. I oblige and set him back down onto the ground. I laugh, spinning in a circle, tracking him as he delightfully runs rings around me in the full eagerness of a spring bunny.

  From spinning, I stumble, falling to my plump bottom, and feel happy. My feet kick out in delight as if I were an overstimulated child. Bunbun presses his head into my lap, a soft sigh rippling his body as he launches into my arms, and I embrace him with what might be the first love at first sight I have ever felt in any life ever.

  A shimmer overlays everything. Another glassy window sparkles into being.

  “Why won’t you look at me, Mother?!” howls the flower, its petals hiding its shameful face.

  A thin, variable breeze shakes the grass, pulling in sunlight along its edges. I feel a surge in my belly. It’s a pulse of pride, of work well done. “Okay, okay, you’re safe now, Bunbun,” I tell my new best friend. I guess we’re a dungeon core and a familiar now,” I say. “Uh, besties?” I suggest tilting my head, my ears flopping to one side. Bunbun hops eagerly onto my lap, his foot stomping on my thigh. I beam. “Is this true friendship already?” I ask, amazed that I made a friend in my new life so quickly. He’s so soft and nice. He likes me.

  …Someone likes me.

  “Maamaaa~” cries the flower in the deep voice.

  I ignore it. It’s strange.

  I laugh instead as Bunbun shakes his head, his long, floppy ears striking my legs. I stroke Bunbun’s fur, feeling a dizzying happiness in my core, all raw and real. “Well. One friend down. How many do I need to reach the next level up?”

  It’s silly to ask, but it feels right. I guess this is how I gain power, by making friends. How wonderful!

  Bunbun blinks, sniffs, giving me this gaze as innocent as sun-warmed plush, and I feel it shimmer through me. A sensation.

  A voice.

  It’s his voice.

  “Hungry,” he ‘says,’ not with words but with a pulse inside my heart, as if my core now fits two souls inside of itself.

  I blink. Did I… hear that? Did Bunbun just… tell me what he wants? I can talk to animals, wow. “Wait, I can…? That’s just really fun! Is this a real world? This feels more like a childish adventure game.” I shift happily, marveling as system text bathes my paws in pastel pixels.

  The system windows pop away.

  I look at Bunbun. Then, with a flick of his head before I can stop him, he munches the flower I had made with magic clean apart like a ruthless contract killer. Mouth full, he looks positively blissful. The flower, torn from the ground, reaches for me. “I’ll always love you!” It cries, scared as it is chewed and swallowed alive.

  I quietly look away, my expression dull, pretending I see an interesting cloud until the voice vanishes down Bunbun’s throat.

  “Those are my flowers, you know,” I scold, pretending to pout. “Not that it matters. You’re my first guest, so I have to bring you snacks,” I tell Bunbun, smiling. “But next time we’re making snack rules, okay?”

  For a few seconds, I just sit with him, my new friend. His fur rests against my plush belly, sun dappling our new world.

  I glance up, craning my head. On the edge of the glade, I catch sight of tall, brooding woods that line my clearing.

  They don’t look so friendly.

  The sunlight doesn’t reach beneath those ancient trees. The leaves are thick and tar-black at the edges; in the hazy and strangely dim woodscape, something slithers, distorts, and retreats.

  It looks very scary.

  “You’re not alone now either, Bunbun,” I whisper as I squish his cute little paws. Bunbun pokes at my stumpy, cute little thigh with his blunt, wet nose. I smile down at him as he flops over, rolling onto his back between my legs, belly to the sky, clearly planning a nap.

  “Sleep,” says Bunbun.

  I concur.

  A nap feels right, right about now.

  More movement. But I don’t feel alarmed.

  At the tree line, a few twitchy mice pause, sniff, and scurry toward the heart of my glade. Two battered sparrows drift down too, testing the magical boundary as they escape the gloomy forest and land in the colorful glade with me.

  They seem tired and now relieved.

  This place I am in seems to draw things to it. Or maybe it’s actually me? Some of them are like Bunbun was, tainted by some dark power. Other things are just escaping that evil and wanting a place to be safe.

  There are more of them. I sit and watch for a little while with sleepy eyes.

  Every new little nose or fluttering wing I see pop up and look at me from the woods makes my heart ache a bit for them. What happened out there? It’s like the world beyond the sunlit grass has ended, and this is the only safe patch of anything left anywhere. This glade feels like an island in an ocean of black water.

  “Scary. Scary,” says a sparrow, quickly hiding behind me as it lands, very tired.

  The mice run around me in a little circle, eager. One of them smells me. “Food?”

  I shake my head. “Go eat some grass or something,” I tell it.

  But I think I get it now.

  This is my ‘reincarnation mission.’ I’m the caretaker of this glade, this little thing that’s left. I’m supposed to protect it, and I’m supposed to protect them now, aren’t I?

  I yawn a long, cute yawn. Several mice next to me yawn with me in unison, their voices making a little, squeaky song as if they were a choir. Bunbun yawns too, his foot thumping against my knee.

  A slow warmth trickles through the mossy soil under me. I feel it in the roots of the lazily wind-blown grass, in the dappled shadows of the trees, and in every place the sun finds and fills so heavily.

  Not concerned with the fate of the world all of a sudden, I flop onto my side in the sun and give in to an even higher power than destiny. It is the desire to nap. Bunbun presses his drowsy cheek to my plush bellybutton as he settles in, using me for comfort. He’s warm and feels nice.

  Logical or not, deep sleepiness overtakes me.

  As I lie there, dozing off, ideas come to me from some other place. I think about making walls and tunnels and passages, kind of like a cute, burrowing rat, except fluffier. A breeze shakes the grass, cool and sweet, carrying the sharp scent of honeycomb past my nose. “Yeah,” I whisper quietly, so as to not disturb the sparrows that settle in, using my sideways halo as a perch. My eyes flutter shut. “I’m going to build something better than just…” I start to say in a snoozy delirium but never finish. The mice climb into my arms as I close my eyes and wrap themselves into a little mound in my clutch.

  It counts as three hugs at once.

  But I mean what I intended there, and I feel my halo want to spin in excitement. But I don’t let it for the sake of the sparrows. One of them is already asleep and making a cute whistling sound just over my head.

  A system window appears again; I can hear it. But I’m just too sleepy, soft, and comfortably warm to care.

  — This time, this life, I’m going to build a home.

  Bunbun snuggles tighter into me. I press my paw to his fur, and, for the first time, I don’t wish to wake up anywhere else. I don’t know how much light one little me can bring to a world this dark, but I’m ready to find out.

  This is going to be the best!

  From inside Bunbun’s stomach, I hear a deep voice again for just a moment. It calls for me. But then it goes quiet. It was probably just a dream. Bunbun’s stomach rumbles.

  Everything is wonderful.

  CUTE CORE!

  so that I can keep writing more free delirium for you all, forever!