"This Thing Lives Alone and in Lush Isolation"

#0036. Puppets, is what I said. She is that puppet master. Puppet mistress? She rules over these things with such a heavy hand. She is there, threaded through each world. And each thread... did it just move of its own accord? It startled me. It should be silent. Be still, now. She is there, I repeat now, threaded through each world. And each thread is tied to one limb or another. But he is cut from her. That's what she thinks hell is: isolation. But she doesn't know how envious we can all be.