Sunny’s eyes blink blearily up at the ceiling.

Unwillingly thrust into consciousness yet again by an unexpected turn in his dreams, he feels… not fully awake. But he’ll certainly be unable to fall back asleep just yet.

His gaze turns aside. The room is dark. A light on his room’s phone blinks; he has a message.

… Maybe that could be a good distraction, for now.

Sunny climbs ponderously out from under the covers, settling onto a too-thin, too-pale pair of legs that he only barely registers as his own. For a moment, he wobbles; he does not often walk, much less so soon after awakening. But he forces himself to stay upright, and makes his way to the phone, the back of his mind already drifting into the comfortable, detached ennui he associates with dreams.

He checks his messages.

“Hey, Sunny, it's Mommy. I'm still in the city setting things up for our new home. Did you finish packing yet?”

His mother’s voice cuts through the quiet of the house, the tinny tinge to it hiding the imperfections in her cheerful act that he had occasionally noticed in person.

Also, of course, Sunny has not finished packing.

“The movers are going to be at our house in a few days, so I left a list of things for you to do before they arrive.”

At that, Sunny’s eyes twitch toward the boldly labeled TO-DO LIST near the door. He’s seen it. He knows it needs to get done. He simply doesn’t feel like doing his chores right now.

“Also, sorry! Mommy messed up! I forgot to tell the electric company that…”

Sunny zones out. His eyes drift to the note to the right of the desk, stuck to the wall. Some part of him dimly recalls that its contents may be of interest to him right now.

‘Hi, Sunny! This is a note from Mommy.’
‘I left some food in the fridge for you downstairs. It's steak... your favorite!’
‘Love you, XOXO.’

Now that he thinks of it… the hour may be wrong, but he hasn’t eaten in a while. Maybe he should eat something, after all? Thanks, Mommy. You definitely know what Sunny needs.

“… your old friends before we leave.”

His mother’s voice catches his attention once again. Sunny hears… friends? Old? Oh. Yes, his friends. He’s been dreaming about them for so long, he’d almost forgotten they really were… real.

“Kel has been trying really hard to get a hold of you ever since we put our house up for sale. He's been calling us every week for the past few months!”

That… certainly sounds like Kel. But why would Kel want to see him now? It’s been years since Sunny has heard hide or hair of the real deal. Or really… anyone other than Mommy. Why would Kel care about him? Sunny, specifically? Wouldn’t he be asking after Mari? She’s the one who everyone likes…

Oh.

Right.

“He seems a little lonely... Maybe you should pay him a visit. Ok, that's it for now! Mommy loves you! Bye, honey!”

Sunny gives a little wave at the phone as a buzz marks the end of the recorded message. Bye, Mommy. His mood somewhat damp, now, he finally turns to leave- he may be sadder than he expected to be, but he’s still hungry. Practical, physical needs come before feelings that he can gloss over. Especially since he’s gotten good at glossing over feelings.

Sunny exits his room, hesitant, but feeling a pang of hunger nonetheless. He wants to eat. He wants to…

He catches sight of the stairs.

Maybe he isn’t so hungry after all? But… it might still be worth a try. He steps up to the top of the banister, looking down the steps. He can’t see the bottom. It’s like staring over the edge of a cliff into oblivion. It must be a long way down…

Fear grips him.

Sunny doesn’t feel like eating anymore. He retreats to his room, soundless, and returns to bed. Falling asleep under adverse conditions is his specialty, after all.

———

Suddenly, Sunny is back in the hall. The house is bathed in an unnatural light, the night outside turned blood-red. And yet it remains dark. Somehow, Sunny knows he has to get downstairs. He doesn’t have any other option.

Sunny returns to the top of the stairs, once more looking down onto the abyss. Shadowy tendrils creep up the walls and the railings. But he is hungry. He has to go down. He can’t be scared off now.

Sunny’s body moves too easily to properly display the trepidation and conflict in his mind, but that is quickly remedied. As he passes the hands, they seem to notice his presence, curling in toward him. This should make him rush, but he can’t. The shadows ahead of him are too dense. If he runs, he might trip right into them. And then… and then he’d…

A knife finds its way into his hand. A small comfort from a dream where it’s easy, so easy, to remain strong, but a comfort nonetheless. Maybe, while he holds the knife, he can be strong too. He can be strong too…

There’s a hand behind him. It’s bigger than the others. He’s surrounded. He can barely breathe. His eyes wildly search for an opening, but the shadows all around him are closing in. The top and bottom of the stairs are out of sight. Slowly, Sunny turns, his eyes landing on the largest shadow, the one coming from the same direction he did. Just… behind him…

Something in the dark attacks Sunny.

Sunny fights. He punches, he shoves, he deliriously slices at the horrific figure. It remains undeterred. Sunny is falling, his world upturned. He feels an inescapable sense of vertigo, his body twisting, attempting to find purchase as if he were uprooted from the stairs and sent tumbling into space.

Taunting words follow him down (or is it up?) into nothingness. Somehow, he barely moves, and that horrible Something in the dark is before him once again.

Words come to him unbidden. They are calm. They are reassuring. They are… he cannot recall whose words they are, but some frenzied part of him knows they’ve helped before. His body shakes as he fights to pull them together into a coherent string.

“Take a deep breath…”

Sunny obeys before he even thinks. He forces his breath out all at once, seeming to drive the beast before him back a step or two, halting its encroachment. His eyes close. And then… he breathes in. It is slow and measured, flooding his mind with calmness and coolness.

As he begins to let the breath out, he dares to open his eyes. The horror he had been fighting is retreating. The stairs are shrinking, the top- and soon, the bottom- coming into view.

Sunny climbs down the last couple of stairs, senses of relief and victory ringing through his very soul. He quickly makes his way to the kitchen, hunger reinvigorated even as the wake of his victory over that terror in the dark passes, returning his emotions to their more comfortable neutrality.

Sunny locates the steak, cold but promising a good meal. He quickly relocates it to the microwave… and while his eyes watch the steak, his mind wanders elsewhere. Even if he may not be dreaming, he can still escape into his own head. Rather than his usual daydreams, he’s having a conversation. Or… snippets of one at least. This is odd, but his mind is ever hard to understand.

The microwave beeps. He relocates the steak from the microwave to the counter/island/bar that serves to turn the kitchen into a dinette, alongside his steak.

He cuts his steak fastidiously, with long-practiced technique. And then, once it has been reduced to bite sized pieces, he begins eating, resuming the dialog in his head. It grows even clearer. The echo of him rethinking his own words disappears as he focuses…

‘What is it that you still live for?’

To dream.

‘And why dream?’

Sunny is practically eating on autopilot. The voice in his head is so warm, so inviting… this is only slightly unusual.

Because reality is sad and lonely and scary.

‘It doesn’t have to be…’

It doesn’t?

‘Of course not… nobody deserves to have their dreams trapped in their own mind. All you have to do to let them out is give in.’

Give… in?

At some point, Sunny had finished eating. The knife is still gripped tightly in his hand. The fork lays forgotten as the hand that held it clutches his face.

‘Your sadness. Your anger. Your guilt… they hold the keys to making your dream a reality. If you simply allow yourself to sink into them, to make them your reason to be…’

… no…

‘Why not? If you can’t be rid of them, surely they’re part of you. And if they’re part of you… how can you deny them?’

Deny… part of me…

What is this? Why is the voice so insistent? This is really not like him… is he having another attack? So soon? But of what?

He doesn’t understand. He can’t understand. It would crush him like nothing else.

‘Oh? Are you so deep in denial? You poor, poor thing. You can never evolve like that.’

Evolve…?

You presume to know more than me? I have lived his best life and protected him from the worst for dozens of lifetimes. Whatever you are, you are not part of him. And that makes you something to eliminate.

‘Don’t worry. I can help you understand everything…’

Get out of his head. Get out of his head! GET OUT OF HIS HEAD! GET OUT G̶E̸T̴ ̸O̵U̶T̵ Ģ̴̪̱̙̺̻̝̤͓̯̦͖̳͚̈́̒̄E̴̱̜̗̱͖͇͇̬̱͆́̇̉T̴̨̥̼̓̇͌͐́͆͗͑̃̀̋͒̊͘ͅ ̵̛̣̞͘Ȯ̴̗̹͈̼̱̟͖̣́͋̈́͆̕͜Ǘ̷̠̇̈̿̔̕T̶̢̧̝͙̦͕̘̲̮͇͍̟̳̽̓͒̀̀̈͋̌̅̚ Ģ̶̛͎̳̙̳̠͚̗̫̥̠̺̠͇̙̪̮̠̟͚͔̣̗̩̭̲͕̫̫̄̂̐͐͝Ȩ̶̢̦̟̬̬̠̟̬̲̤͈̰̰̙̘̲̮̱͚̠̼͉̙̟̫̭̖͎̰̃͗̽̏͌̇̌̄̈́͛͊͂͑͋́̒̓̍̎̄̋͌͑̒͂͘̚̕͜͝͝͝ͅT̵̛̤͎̋̃͗́̈̈͌̃̐͒̑͛̌̓̄́͑͑̆̀̋̾̾́͆̆̉͒̈́̊́͝͝ ̵̣͈͙̫͓̫̖͇̱͙̱̪̗̭̰̥͊̑͒͠Ŏ̵̢̭̪̹̩̲̫̣̜̺̦̖̞̼̫͖̩̺̦̥̯̻̝͓̟̫̬̩͉̙͙͇̙̟̞͇̹̞͚̾͊͆͒͘͝ͅU̵̢̡̡̢̢̫͍̙̭̫̘̰̱͇͎̤̦̙̰̞͕̰̐̂ͅT̷̡̨̧̨̲̺͚̺̝̙̹͈͕̦͓̘̩̩̺̩̱̪͓̞͇͚̼̗̣̠̥̼̦̂͗̓̏̀̎̆̈́͛͗̿̊͑̏͆͐͋͛͛̆̅̈́̊͂̈́̀̓̍̔͂͑̿͂́̏̚̚̕͘͜͝͝ͅ

That silent noise in Sunny’s head intensifies. Light engulfs his world as his face falls toward the counter.

———

“I still cannot leave this place…”

“Even at the end of all this, I cannot be free…”

“Am I not allowed to have a dream that is beyond my means?”

———

Sunny is somewhere else. He doesn’t recognize the location… the endless shelves seem to be those of a library, but the warm wood, the rich furnishings, the motes of light that seem to suffuse the very air itself with brightness… it feels more real than his dreams usually do. More cohesive, more solid…

And yet it must be a dream. Just a moment ago, he was in the kitchen. He was having a conversation. He was… wait.

Sunny is Sunny.

What’s going on? Where is he? That animate husk of ivory and dark wood, that flawless shell that protects him even from his worst nightmares… Where is Omori? It’s been so long since Sunny first started dreaming through the inscrutable eyes of Omori that he can’t even imagine what would have removed him from such a perspective.

The sound of a sharp click rings out. Sunny’s eyes shoot up to the source, even as the sound trails off, accompanied by what sounds like the fluttering of paper. Before him stands a woman. Tall, imposing, with unnatural sky-blue hair and bright yellow eyes, her dress of feathers flowing elegantly down to the floor. Her features are sharp, and in a way remind him of his- though now she’s on guard, he can recognize the signs of a face not often used for intense displays. And of course, Sunny has never dreamed of her before, either.

“… I’ll only say this once.” She begins to speak, her voice clear and enunciated. “I despise verbose and roundabout speech that doesn’t get to the point. So don’t try to get wordy, just answer my questions. You don’t get to question me, either.” She’s being awfully wordy for someone who supposedly doesn’t like it when people get wordy.

Sunny, half-dazed, can only nod as he fights back his growing panic. She seems satisfied with a nonverbal answer, and continues. “Where did you come from, how did you enter this place, and for what purpose?”

Sunny can’t answer any of those questions. He shakes his head, panic seeping through into his face. His dreams in Headspace always have logical paths from A to B. His dreams outside of Headspace never ask him questions like this, they never expect him to give them logic. What’s happening? Is this… is this not… a dream?

Sunny’s breathing is failing. He can’t calm down. Every time he tries to take that all important breath, it catches in his throat. He can hear his heart pounding in his ears. It’s just like… just like… when Omori needs to leave.

Sunny grips his knife tighter, raising it in front of his body. His faltering attempts to draw breath, the growing ringing in his ears, the sound of his own blood pumping, it all serves to put him in a daze. He doesn’t know if he’s dreaming. He doesn’t care. He wants out. He wants to leave, now!

Sunny prepares to plunge the knife into his gut. The mental image of Omori steadies his hand. And then he just has to thrust-

A bare hand slams into his chest, wrapped around nothing. Sunny barely even has a moment to process that it was only one hand before the reason why is made abundantly clear by the searing pain in his right shoulder, the warm sensation running down his side, and the lack of feeling anywhere further down his arm.

“While I have no patience for unnecessary words, I shall not allow you to escape so easily either. You will tell me where you came from. You will tell me how you arrived here. And you will tell me why you are here.”

Sunny makes a choked noise, falling to his knees. The suffocating feeling only intensifies, his entire world seeming to shake and sway drunkenly. His vision distorts, bending and darkening. His eyes finally squeeze shut, and he begins to vomit, blood and other viscera mixing on the ground around him.

The fingers of Sunny’s one remaining hand curl as he attempts to look up at his— his attacker. His eyes open briefly, letting… blinding light… through. The faint echo of her speech rings through his head. And then finally, almost mercifully, Sunny feels nothing.

———

Angela stares at the… corpse. She killed him. How? Not even a clerk would have died so quickly. So easily. Clearly, for him to have entered her Library, he was above that level…

She watches his remains, fluttering pages and motes of glorious light flowing from his body. The majority of them simply scatter, as if pulled by an invisible breeze elsewhere in the Library. The Light has uses everywhere, after all, and if she can get enough of it, perhaps she can awaken the Sephirot. In fact, the boy seems to have held an unusual quantity of Light. Perhaps in another time and place, he might have been one drawn in to the original Lobotomy Corporation… no. Now is not the time for such foolishness.

While most of him simply disappears into the cloudy upper reaches of the Library, a small fragment of his prodigious supply of Light coalesces back into a rough rectangular shape. Several of the pages drift in to surround it, encompassing its form, melding inside, and then…

Angela plucks a new book from the floor. Its label proudly proclaims it to be The Book of Sunny. Ironic; for the few moments she saw him, he hardly looked the happy sort.

Out of curiosity, she flips it open, allowing its barely-translatable wealth of light, emotion, and knowledge to flow into her mind. It’s slow going; trying to eke out understanding of a full conversion of one’s mind, body, muscle memory, history, memory, subconscious, emotions… it’s hard. Without extracting the key page, the core of a book’s being, and wearing it for themself, Angela doubts anyone could get more than a brief extract of one’s life story from a book of the Library’s making.

What she does see, though, doesn’t make any sense. The world Sunny recalls does not resemble anything she knows of the City. His home, his family, his upbringing… it’s all brighter and happier than that of a child in the most luxurious nest, at times. It looks like nonsense, usually. And when it is scary, it’s all still, ultimately, safe.

Even worse, she can sense underpinnings of… something. Something incongruous, something different.

That settles it. Angela had thought she was not one for sentiment, but her brief curiosity has given way to more. Sunny has officially graduated to being worthy of study; he’s an anomaly, as far as both his unexplained appearance here in the Library, and his Book. She snaps the tome shut one-handed, its crisp pages pressing together and beginning to shine.

Fortunately, it does not take as much Light as he had provided to return to him a body. Unfortunately, manipulating the Light in this specific way is still new to her. It looks like this is going to take time…

———

Sunny’s final memory is not a final memory at all.

Where before, he was certain he felt his life escaping him, his bleeding too intense and his mind on the verge of death, he awakens feeling… fine. Still malnourished, still a little wobbly, but not missing any limbs.

While he can’t recall his death or anything between it and a few moments ago, he has an unshakeable feeling that time has passed. And that he died. Perhaps that’s because of his new locale, though… where before, he was standing among shelves lined up in less than neat rows, obviously leading somewhere else, he is now in a room he’s hard pressed to describe. There are bookshelves leading many directions, a prominent staircase, and in the center, some sort of large desk, just before an even larger… stage? Podium? Counter?

And with him is bird lady. The woman from before. As he realizes it, he steps back on raw instinct, preparing to make a break for it. He realizes after another beat that she’s wearing something new; the title of “bird lady” seems perhaps less fitting now that she’s wearing a suit. Not a basic, classic suit, something with layers and ruffles and patterns.

Lady (no, that doesn’t have enough detail, but at least it’s accurate) seems satisfied that he’s come to his senses, even if he still hasn’t spoken a word to her. She isn’t even acknowledging her earlier murder attempt, apparently intent on moving right along.

“We may have gotten off on the wrong foot.” Yeah. Right. Understatement of the year, Lady.

“I wish to apologize- I gave you my terms, I asked my questions, and you refused to answer. You knew the risks. And yet, speaking more practically, I still did take your arm without permission.” Sunny didn’t know the risks! That wasn’t even why he had “refused” to answer! He had just frozen up! That was-

His anger subsides at the memory of his arm. Freshly removed, spewing blood. He hadn’t even heard it hit the ground; had she vaporized an entire limb?

Sunny can’t afford to anger her. He nods, after realizing that she’d stopped talking, and she continues. “As for those risks, you did indeed die, earlier. As part of my apology, I have returned you to life with a body formed of Light and knowledge. I am quite patient and generous, you see.” Suddenly, Sunny is reminded of… someone annoying. Lady, as the pattern seems to be, either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care to stop and adjust her behavior based upon his annoyance.

“Now, your body is even better than it once was. Easier to use, at least. However, you cannot leave this place- not without me returning to you all of the Light you once held and deliberately, properly reforming your body.” Ah, that’s the catch. She’s going to keep him trapped here…

Even if it was filled with awful memories and specters of mistakes past, he’s already starting to miss his house. At least his self-imposed exile there was lonely and simple. Just being in the same space as Lady is getting on his nerves.

Not that she seems to notice. Or is it that she doesn’t care? She keeps talking regardless, her expression quirking into a small smile as she sits down behind the desk. “Now that you understand your circumstances, it is time to formally welcome you to the Library. I am Angela, Director and Head Librarian of my role’s namesake. And I want you to help me.”

Sunny tilts his head. Help… her? Oh, is she finally getting to the point? Is this why she won’t let him leave? She’s going to put him to work? His skinny limbs don’t feel quite as weak and frail as they did an hour or so ago, but they hardly seem like lifting arms. Angela brushes past his concern, probably because he didn’t voice it out loud.

“First, I will ask for your cooperation in my analysis of how you entered here uninvited.” Cooperation? Does she really think he knows anything about it, or is she finally giving up that ghost? Still, Sunny is hardly going to complain. She’s given him his life and limb back… she can take them away again too.

“Secondly, starting immediately, I will begin collecting books about the City, in order to synthesize the one perfect book. Even if you may not be a resident of the City, which is itself questionable… a body other than my own is necessary for the reception of guests.” Not a resident of… the City? What, no name? Just the City? Even Deep Well has a name, despite being the only city-sized settlement in… his own head. Okay, that’s weird to think explicitly. Still, who names their city “The City”?

Sunny’s scathing inner commentary does not reach his lips. He gives a mute nod, to which Angela seems… perplexed. “Forgive me for not mentioning it sooner, but my earlier postulation is no longer in effect. You may speak freely, provided you are not simply wasting time.”

Sunny stares at her. Angela waits a solid thirty seconds before sighing and taking a seat at the desk. “Well, if you truly have no desire to speak, I suppose you may familiarize yourself with what is already here. I have writing to do, myself. Any book in the Library is yours to read, although those on the shelves presently are of… questionable value.”

Sunny takes off, promptly disappearing into the shelves. Angela focuses her sole attention on the Book. As her first literary work, she feels that it should have value… but as bait for the lowest of the low, she supposes that may not be necessary.