Mindmistress: Faring well? No thanks to you. You've got some nerve coming here, you know... Editor: I...have no...choice. I am...not well... Mindmistress: No, really? Last time I saw you...Mindmistress: ...An axe had nearly cleaved you in half!! Not, apparently, something that can keep you down for long, I see. So to what do I owe this...dubious honor?

Editor: I...need...your...help...saginunc'don!! I...cannot heal...the wounds are not...of my author's creation. He allowed them, but I cannot...*Kaff* *Hakk* I cannot..die while my author remains alive.Editor: I am and will always be...his muse. I need to...heal. And I cannot do so on my own. Another author's...creation must be...the one to heal.

Mindmistress: Another...author's...? You're convinced of your own...unreality? Scale thought so too...philosophical absurdities aside...and why, exactly do you think I'd be remotely inclined to help you?




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