#peeb writes

i remember holding her hand as she guided me

through marvels and novelties

cat videos and flash games

my playground

untouched by the cold heart of greed

her eyes won't open anymore

she lays on her deathbed and i weep for her

i'm ushered from her side with colors that hurt my head

"please subscribe to mourning plus for unlimited grief."

i scrape my empty pockets inside out

i am ok

if there is no afterlife.

i don't want to bear an eternity

no matter how utopic it is.

i just want to be remembered

fondly

by anyone

who loved and cared

about me.

Hi. I think it's about time you woke up again.

I promised myself I wouldn't intervene so directly. I don't need to add any more blurred lines to Zampanio, of all things, but I know you. If you don't get pushed, you'll never take a step. I mean, without my eyes on you... nothing happens. You sleep, in a sense.

Don't you want to know where you go?

Sorry, sorry, I don't mean to sound so pretentious. I've just not had time to breathe life into you lately, and it makes me think about the state of you when I'm not around to push you forward.

Naturally, I have the answers. That's how we operate, you and I. I make up the answers before I ask the questions, and then I set you on solving them.

You know, I've been really into The Magnus Archives recently (TXkgb2JzZXNzaW9uIGNvbnN1bWVzIHlvdXIgZXhpc3RlbmNlIGF0IHdpbGwu), and I find myself thinking of you a lot when I think of The Web. I know that means nothing to you, but oh... it is of such great significance to me. And so it is also very significant to you.

And, coincidentally, The Bridge has turned out to be quite an avatar of Corruption. I wasn't even going for that!

Unstable, that one. Holding onto everything by a thread. A gossamer thin string connecting you and I, as delicate and oxymoronically strong as spider's silk. They could pull apart at any moment, but miraculously remain tightly gripped onto the edge of a metaphorical Spiral, so self aware and yet completely clueless. Just As Confused As You Are.

They are not drowning in it. Yet. Their efforts to infect are detrimental to their ability to dive, but Zampanio demands both, so it is prying them apart at the seams.

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As The Bridge, they may provide you with insight in a more digestible manner than I. They are not a Stranger. You would do well to work alongside them rather than against them.

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Go on, then. I promise not to bother you again, Q2hlc3M=.

I navigate Zampanio through several lenses. What are they?

Well. It keeps shifting, doesn't it? Like the very fluid filling my lungs. By the time I make my own sense of it here, it will become outdated. it has become outdated.

The Spectre is me. Isn't it? It was a title granted to me as I am, so it must be close enough. I find this fitting.

The False Mirror rejects. They shield themself behind walls, seeking safety and security rather than answers. If he closes his eyes, he can pretend they aren't calling his name.

The Bridge crumbles, rebuilds itself, holds tightly to one end and tightly to another, but they will never be on either side. They're always going to be confused.

The Splatter is hungry. It is so very hungry and it needs more. It always needs more. It bares its teeth and attempts to squeeze through the bars of its cage once again.

The Echo emerges, fresh. Stained before he even begins. He is still searching for himself. Who will he be? Not even I can tell you that right now. And there are more of him. He swears he saw a stranger with his face.

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SEUgSVMgTk9UIFRIRSBORUdBVElWRSBTUEFDRSBIRSBTVE9MRSBJVCBGUk9NIEhFUiBSSUdIVEZVTCBWT0lE

i forgot it was there

i had given it another name