Uh, I don’t feel so good I think to myself as the wailing elf thrashes me around wildly. The dry library air is terrible for me, the strange, somber feeling I have been experiencing here the whole time seems to grow stronger and stronger the more she shakes me, the more of my goo flies away drop by drop and the more my body dries out. Is this what me dying feels like as an ooze? I feel like I’m dying. Disgustingly enough, I think the sweat and tears I wick from the thief’s body are sustaining me in a sense, but I don’t want to talk about it, okay?

 

“I have a suggestion,” says a coy voice from the table. Both of us turn to the dungeon-master.

 

“What?” sniffles the elf to them.

 

“Well obviously dying so often is terrible for the guy’s mental state, I mean, look at them,” says the dungeon-master. The elf raises me up again and looks at my droopy eyes with a glumness to her own.

 

“You’re right! This looks terrible!” shouts the elf looking at my drooping body and begins crying again.

 

I feel like I look like I always do honestly, but I’m too tired to argue anymore. Oozes aren’t meant to be on a floor like this one.

 

“So what you need, if you want them to get well again, is for them to be alive longer. Give the mind a chance to heal.”

 

“B-but… they’re gonna try to leave again if I don’t stop them! They don’t know what they’re doing!” whines the elf.

 

“Yeah, that’s just the nature of the beast. But how about this-,“ the dungeon-master raises a finger.

 

“The higher up they go, the more floors they reopen, the longer they have the opportunity to stay alive until the hero-party clears the dungeon.”

 

Huh? I look back to the dungeon-master, realizing what their scheme is now. What a sly creature. A lush and a jerk. But sly. Looking back up I can see the sniveling elf’s expression change to one of her clearly thinking.

 

  The dungeon-master continues, “If they get high enough to stay alive significantly longer each time, their mind can heal enough so that they realize again that they don’t want to leave. That they can remember that they want to stay here with you.” The dungeon-master leans over from the chair, whispering into the elf’s ear. “Forever.”

 

“Forever?” repeats the elf under her breath, her eyes going wide. Oh boy.

 

“Do I get a say in this?” I interject.

 

  “No!” snap back both of them at once, turning sharply down towards me. Oof. I sigh. But then after I turn silent I realize just how cunning the dungeon-master’s plan is. If they can convince the elf to let me climb up unhindered, I can make progress at lightning speed. Heck, maybe even if she helps me find an entrance or two this could be quick. But… wait… I ask a new question.

 

“Isn’t that cheating?”

 

“Huh?” asks the dungeon-master.

 

“If she helps me climb, isn’t that cheating? I thought there were rules.”

 

  The dungeon-master strikes me over the head again, my goo presses down but this time doesn’t reconstitute itself back into shape. The elf pulls me to the side and flashes a cold glare at the dungeon-master who goes on, not bothered by the look, to say, “You idiot! Of course it’s not cheating! The rest of the dungeon is allowed to help you leave. Why do you think I told the sub-bosses to lend you a hand when they could? We’re all on the same team here, dummy!”

 

“James! Another bottle!” yells the dungeon-master. The book flies off in a hurry.

 

“Hey?” I ask curiously

 

“What?!” snaps the dungeon-master, growing impatient now.

 

“What was with the one bottle you gave me when I was a spider-kin?”

 

“Oh, that?” The dungeon-master thinks for a moment.

 

  “You were a hot, half-naked spider-girl so I wanted you to get drunk because I hoped you two would make out.” They turn away and sigh, clenching a fist tightly shut. “It was so close to happening… Madeline and I were really invested in that one. Right, Madeline?” they loudly call out to the book, which is still hiding far away in the distance. In a fluster it sticks itself back into the shelf where it can’t be seen. The elf clutching me is making a series of humming, moaning noises at the proposition which I’m just going to do my best to ignore. You don’t need to know, friend. You don’t need to know.

 

“Oh… hey, where do I write to if I want to apply to live in a different dungeon?” I ask sleepily, feeling the end draw closer.

 

They shoot a venomous glare my way. “We both know you can’t write.”

 

“That was below the belt. You never taught me, mom! You’re always too busy being drunk!”

 

“Shut up!” The dungeon-master hits me again. “I’m not your mom, I’m your boss! Besides, it’s your fault I drink!”

 

“I can teach you to write!” shouts the elf to me excitedly, lifting me up to her face once again. She leans in closer whispering, “We can even make our own ink!”

 

“Out of what?” I ask, mistakingly. Her eyes light up at the question as she squeaks in delight and begins giggling excitedly.

 

“Uh…” I begin, not sure if I really want her to answer anymore.

 

Looking over to the dungeon-master I change the topic quickly. “So what about the eye?”

 

They look at me curiously. I don’t feel so good. My goo is turning thick and dense, the water evaporating faster than I had thought. My viscous ooze turning into a thick, coagulating jelly that I can’t sustain myself as.

 

“Huh? The eye? What eye?”

 

“You know? The eye? On the,” I yawn, the thief hugs me tighter as I do so. “-the eye on the piece of paper? Actually I have been seeing a lot of eyes lately now that I think about it…”

 

  Tilting their head, the dungeon-master looks at me “Don’t know what you’re talking about. JAMES!” they shout into the distance. “Where’s my bottle?!” My vision grows darker. I see the book returning with a bottle of wine that the dungeon-master grabs and tears the cap off of, finally sitting back down on their chair before taking a large gulp.

 

“I think I’m dying,” I say groggily.

 

They wave me off. “You’ll be fine, don’t be a baby.”

 

As if triggered by this word the Thief shakes me in excitment. “Hey! Hey!” The thief looks into my dying eyes one final time. “When are you gonna give me a baby?!” she asks. The dungeon-master spits out their wine over the pages on the table in a spray. My vision goes dark.

 

I die.

 

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