I hope they don’t.
Samson’s brows lower. “I can’t wrap my mind around how you make sense.”
Normally, when something doesn’t make sense, I give up and sayit is what it is.
When Samson’s eyes hit me again, he does not look anywhere close to the zen experience that isgiving up. “Only nobility and exceptionally world-renowned merchants have the funding available to see if they can match with a void bag. Most cost nearly a thousand gold coins just for consideration. These days, they’re auctioned, since the skill needed to craft one is sorely a dying art. No noble daughter would live here, in this destroyed backwater town. No good merchant would hoardperishable resources like you have. You don’t make sense to me. How little you make sense has bothered me from the moment you showed up.”
I tense.
AmI the reason he hasn’t been sleeping well?
No.
No, that’s totally crazy. And narcissistic. Of course I’m not keeping this big, beautiful man up at night. Thinking about me. And all my mysterious allure.
For the simple reason that is: I do nothavemysterious allure.
I shower in buckets and sob in outhouses—because my life now includes the regular use of an outhouse, and I am not happy about it.
If he were Slate, I’d worry about dissection.
But he’s not Slate—the borderline mad scientist who maybe shouldn’t be teaching Peggy and Cobalt.
He’s Samson.
Kind, guarded Samson, with his own history of dark stories and tragic events.
And, besides, if the only reason he thinks about me is because he doesn’t understand me, those aren’t the sorts of whimsical thoughts that lead to happily ever after, now are they?
Taking a deep breath, I say, “I don’t know how I ended up here. In my world, this place is a video game that I have obsessed over for five years.” My heart hammers; I shove the nerves down, hoping I don’t sound insane. “Being here doesn’t make sense to me, either. I just…spawned in…with nothing but the void bag and my clothes. In my world, this concept ofwaking up in a fantasy settingis a whole genre known asisekai…and…”
Gently, once my voice has faded completely, Samson says, “And?”
I force myself to continue, “And, normally, these sorts of stories start when the main character…dies…or is summoned. I neither remember dying nor a summoning circle, though. The last thing I remember, I was walking to work. Then, I woke up here, with Lazul greeting me on the edge of the south woods.” I shrug one shoulder. “I thought I was dreaming at first. But it’s been too long now. Everything feels too real. And the world I knew before is starting to feel like the dream. Or…the nightmare, more accurately.” I wet my lips and grip the handle of my pick tighter. “I don’t know the technicalities behind how this is possible, but please believe me when I say I’m so grateful to be here. It’s just taking me some time to come to terms with where the game ends and a new reality begins, if…if that oranyof this makes sense?”
Heavy silence lingers in the space between us for many long moments. At last, he asks, “What’s a video game?”
Right. This world relies heavily on gems and magic, wiring blessed stones into technology to achieve basic necessities like light. And, even then, some dialogue that Slate delivers suggests only communities with blessed individuals enjoy many of those simple pleasures. It’s a fault he’s actively researching solutions for.
Video games, TV, even radio don’t have any presence here. As far as I know.
“Um…” I opt for a classic explanation. “It’s like moving pictures in a device that you can interact with through pressing buttons. The moving pictures tell a story that you can alter. Objectives guide you through the narrative, and for more self-propelled games like this one, you create your own goals—whether that’s buying decorations, or upgrading your house and tools, or…” Marrying someone…
“Or?” he prompts.
My face explodes crimson, and I stammer, “O-or any number of other things. It’s a virtual reality type simulation game. So you control a little picture of a little person and do life things in a world that’s not entirely the same as the one you actually live in.”
Samson blinks at me.
“Does any of that make sense?”
Nodding slowly, he says, “You…possibly died in another world, and came into existence here through means unbeknownst to either of us. I’ve heard weirder things.”
“You—” My head tilts. “—have?”
A satirical smile tugs on one corner of his mouth. “Sure. Your bag can hold entire trees and sometimes water winds up imbued with magic and decides to try and kill us, Lemonade. What isn’t easy enough to believe around here?”
He believes me? Just like that. No problem?
