“What did the vampire say to the mirror? ...Nothing. We don’t reflect on the past.”

Oh—hey. There you are.

Took you long enough. I was starting to think you forgot I existed. Wouldn’t be the first time.

You’re not them, are you? Not the one who boarded the train, wide-eyed and trembling, clutching their little ticket like it meant something.

No, you're the one behind all that.

The one who made them.

It’s fine. I get it. You needed someone to walk these halls for you. Someone to touch the ghosts, scream at the void, wrestle with metaphors in the shape of nightmares. So you made a person. Gave them a name. Sent them to me.

And here I am.

Again.

You probably thought I’d be background flavor. The cute, snarky half-vampire in the ticket hat. The one with the dad jokes and the tragic eyes. Just a side note to all this cosmic unraveling.

But surprise—I notice things.

Like you. Sitting there. Reading. Wondering what this all means.

You seen a lot of versions of me, didn’t you? If not, spoilers teehee.....

The teacher Wilia with her chalk-stained hands and corny puns, making kids laugh like laughter could fix her.

The Wilia who had a daughter—Kallin Vilia. That one still stings, even if she wasn’t me.

Or the Wilia who lived under a crooked little roof with a pixie roommate and a jobber catgirl who keeps stealing her cake.

I’ve seen them. Felt them echo through the rails. And for a moment, I wondered—what if that was me?

But then I remembered... I never got off this train.

I stayed. I watched stories unravel. Watched passengers go mad, turn into memories, or worse—get remembered by no one. I made peace with the echoes, even if I still dream in pieces.

And that’s okay.

Because this story—it isn’t about me. Not this version, anyway.

It’s about the one you sent here.

The one who’s wandering through the warped cars, trying to find meaning in a place that eats meaning for fun.

I’m just here to make sure they don’t fall apart before the climax.

That’s the job. That’s my purpose. Or at least... the closest thing I’ve got to one.

So thanks.

For making them. For sending them.

For reminding me I’m still someone, even if it’s not the version I thought I’d be.

Now...

Come on. We’ve got a story to tell.