Bread, and all variations of the aforementioned

Cycle 1 I A1-3: Remember that you have to die.

Music: Kikuo - Inside the Water

→→→

Click to hear her voice claim!

[ V.A.R.A. ]

Löre 3: V.A.R.A. and the Annotations

Theme: kian - LIMINAL

The broken lights completely fill my sight
I try and try but I can never get it right
Endless rooms and hallways twist within my mind
Distant sounds are drawing near; something so familiar yet so unclear

The buzz drowns any meaning out
I’m lost, I’m found, I’m laying all these feelings out
Yearning to escape with no idea how
Leaving every open door, still left wanting more

And now the ringing sings out loud
Sounds I cannot live without
Bound to all these rotting halls
I still can’t recall when or why I saw

Hide from the awful thoughts I grow
I will never let it go
Taking karma for the lies I told them all

All that this world has come to be
No one else will ever see
Running from the broken me

All I want is to be free

For a while all I did was deny
And I hoped that i’d get another reply
And I regret that i never said “goodbye"

And the cold damp darkness
Feels like it is stopping any progress
Trying nonetheless, though I should confess that

Bow the ringing sings out loud
Sounds I cannot live without
Bound to all these rotting halls
I still can’t recall when or why I saw

Hide from the awful thoughts I grow
I will never let it go
Taking karma for the lies I told them all

Everything I’ve come to know
Vivid colors overflow
Should I stay or should I go?
Why does everybody know

What it’s like on the right side?
What’s it like on the right side?
A normal life i’ve been denied
And all I’m left is to wonder why

So what’s it like on the right side?
I’ll never know from the inside
A normal life i’ve been denied
Forever trapped in a world that has died

Text Transcripts

Marginals are a very complicated and loosely defined species, held together more by their shared evolutionary history than by actual physiological similarities between each individual. While the proto-Marginal is an entirely "natural" entity, its evolution and persistence into/as the current state of the species has largely been facilitated and augmented through technological means.

General Timeline

The Living Universe of the First Marginal → The First/proto-Marginal → First Contact with the Living → The "Spill" → The Council

The Spill: The First Marginal's consciousness grows exponentially until it becomes several autonomous beings: the transition of the "Marginals" from a singular being to a whole new species.

The most natural component of a Marginal is the same "stuff" Real Minds are made of, which manifests as Memories. Each Marginal's World has its own distinct set of Memories. The boundary between one Mind and another is kept through the Body, but as Marginals lack a Real Body, their Memories are permeable and susceptible to external influence. Their bodies, while only compensatory reconstructions, can protect them from this to a degree.

The page has an image of a dark blob saying "I am goop."

The proto-Marginal had no form: Its existence was only felt through Its effects on surrounding Bodies. Eventually, It learned to compensate a body for Itself, initially looking like inky soup.

However, a Marginal cannot maintain a body while it is Asleep, making it vulnerable. It takes a lot of energy for a Marginal to be Awake, as they are simultaneously conscious both in their own World and the Living one.

As such, "Sleeping" is a way for them to retreat from the Living World to rest and check on any issues inside their own Universe.

"Sleeping" may sound like an inherently temporary state, but for the Marginals a formless state of being only in/as themselves is their natural way of existing. It is being Awake the Living World that is actually unnatural for them.

Thus, a Marginal will struggle and possibly be unable to wake up in the Living World unless they stay partially tethered to it.

One of the most popular Tethers among the Marginals are picture frames (mostly for aesthetic).

The page has an image of Jacques sitting next to a picture frame where Media is sleeping in. Looking drowsy, Jacques says "I'm sleepy…" He is jolted back to alertness when Robo-Maid points a gun at his back, citing "Living-Marginal Relations Code #3…"

This however means that falling asleep near where a Marginal is Sleeping (eg in the proximity of their Tether/s) makes accessing their Memories and thus Internal World a serious risk.

Marginals Sleeping together and being plunged into the Dreamspace of their overlapping Worlds presents a danger to them as there is no guarantee the Objects of one Marginal can adapt to the World of another. While this will not actually "kill" them, the most severe form of it can cause painful and irreversible chaos in their respective Universes.

Examples

Creatures from Curator's World cannot withstand the weather in Media's World.	The page has an image of a Speep trying to shield itself from the rain. Another Speep is dead and dissolving.
The beings from Security's World would accidentally crush the relatively tinier beings of Reception's World.	The page has an image of a giant humanoid Object with a turnkey for a head walking across a city, crushing it. They say "Oops." Tiny humanoid Objects point up at them in fear.
Culture shock.	The page has an image of two humanoid Objects, one from the Curator's World and the other from the Media's, talking to each other. Curator's Object is holding a cat-like Object. "Oi, what kind of bird is that? One of those Filipino breeds? You have a permit to own that?" Media's Object asks. "It's a kat… how do you breathe with ears like that?" Curator's object responds. "I don't. I have bronchitis." "The sitcom?"

This poses a similar danger to the Living. While their Bodies cannot be brought into a dream and thus cannot be directly harmed, their Minds manifest as a "dreamself" that Objects can injure/kill, which results in a part of the Mind being left in the Marginal's World.

The page has an image of Anthony saying "A parade in the Curator's World today… but it's gonna rain.

Virtual Annotation and Reset Assistant

V.A.R.A. is an A.I. that fulfills many purposes for the Marginals, one of them being regulating this Dreamspace through the use of a "controlled dream" called an Annotation.

[ V.A.R.A. presents as a voice. It downloads the Mindstuff that Tethers leave behind then uses it for its own personality. ]

V.A.R.A. does not automatically "run" in all Marginal "dreams," but only in dreams where an Annotation is initiated.

An Annotation involves three beings:

The Target, which is the Marginal whose Memories are being manipulated, primarily to achieve a specific result or to fix an internal error.
The Annotator, which is the being who manipulates the events inside the Annotation to adjust the Target's Memories. Conventionally, this is another Marginal, but technically any other being could perform this role.
The Tether, which is the Living being who keeps the Marginals "linked" to the Living World, allowing them to wake up. Any Object of the Living World (eg a place, thing, etc.) could technically work but there is no guarantee a Marginal will be able to wake themselves up with such. A Living being's Real Mind, Body and Soul all fulfill a purpose that make them effective Tethers.

While the Wires are metaphysical, tampering with them with magical technology turns them into physical Wires akin to string instruments: arranging them a specific way affects their "sound" and effect on Reality.

This physical arrangement can be transcribed as a Code (similar to how music can be transcribed into notes), and this Code can be engraved on a Hand, allowing the use of the Wires without the need to physically hold/ arrange them a certain way.

Demons can transcribe them naturally, Marginals can do so with magical technology.

Think of the engraving on each Hand as a bit like the grooves of a vinyl record.

Hands are named after Hands of the clock.

Though the manipulation of the Wires is somewhat mathematical when they are in a physical form, they are still technically conceptual Wires so many of their aspects are mysterious and appear to be arbitrary/unnecessary.

V.A.R.A. changes the underlying Architecture of the Dreamspace and everything in it to be the same: this way, Objects can adapt to foreign Worlds and will also be docile towards each other.

The page has an image of two Objects resembling a crow and rabbit fighting. After V.A.R.A. loads the Architecture, the two become friends.

A Marginal cannot directly erase Memories, either its own or another's. An Annotation manipulates Memories the same way an actual annotation "manipulates" a Story.

The page has an image of a rabbit-like Object with a long tail. After the Annotation is saved, its tail changes to look like a fan of feathers.

By providing more or new "context" to a Memory, it can reinforce, dilute or even "overwrite" it, and in turn change the way the Target World interprets it. This affects Objects based around that Memory.

The content introduced by an Annotation does not have to be true: it only needs to be convincing enough for the Target to believe, and its Memories will adjust accordingly.

Annotations are not a necessary program to run, and are only done when a Marginal is unable to fix its own internal errors.

The page has an image of Media forcing a smile through gritted teeth, saying "My ass would'be stayed in the primordial soup if I knew there was gonna be days like this…" in reference to a meme phrase.

Usually, a Marginal can deal with their own internal issues through normal Sleep, alone.

An Annotation only lasts for the duration of the Wire's "vibration." When a Hand "forgets" the Wire wound around it, the Annotation automatically ends and this leaves two options:

V.A.R.A. saves the Annotation's events and wakes up all beings inside of it. This is the default result. This may result in tasks being left unfinished, but stops the risk of any Objects ripping each other apart. The page has an image of Jacques and Media next to a confused, glitchy Curator.
The Annotation is aborted and the beings inside are plunged into normal Dreamspace. This option requires the Annotator to set it in advance. Generally unsafe and is likely to get any Living being inside
killed
. The page has an image of Media, wide-eyed, staring at the floor, a bloodied Hand next to him. Most of the image is obscured in ink.

"You're still worried about that?"

Media squishes Jacques's face, the Bird once again sitting on his lap, holding on to his arm. Media holds the Hand, now morphed into a fishing pole with its line being the Wire Bread was tied in, with an extra arm. Jacques squints, unclear if from emotion or from the force of Media squeezing his cheeks.

"I already told you, didn't I?" Media says with a gentle smile. "I am never going to let you die.

Media picks him up and gently plops him on the boat's seat, before getting up and reconstructing a ribbon microphone.

"Mary, V.A.R.A., even that cursed Doll…" he begins with confidence and enthusiasm in his voice, "If my Judge deems all of them suspicious, then it must be True."

"To prove myself, I'll investigate all of these anomalies, and when I find the root of them all…

Media ties a Wire around his microphone, his smile widening as his eye glints with immense adoration.

"Let's fix it together. ♡"

Notes

Annotation 1 Part 3 is the final major chapter update for the time being, so here is a messy Lore document in the meanwhile.

Well, not much to say about this one. I hesitated to post this, actually, because I did consider just showing more of the mechanics behind V.A.R.A. and the Annotations in the comic itself, but, uh. Considering how disjointed this comic is, I'll post this as the 'canon document' while still going over at it in length in the story proper, especially as these documents are optional to read.

[ Also, I already drew it and do not want to waste it, and I'm following the order of the colour schemes, so this has to be posted after A1-3 ]

Life-wise, I feel anxious over the future, which is nothing new. I try to stay optimistic. I remembered this paper by Stan Tatkin about avoidant attachment recently. Specifically one that details a 'fantasy of omnipresence', where the avoidantly-attached partner maintains a mental fantasy that their non-avoidant partner is "always there' so they never feel alone.

The example case for this is that, imagine caregivers who neglect to give their child adequate affection or attend to their emotional needs but for whom the provision of shelter, food and other forms of sustenance has been consistent. The child may feel 'neglected' somehow but may not be able to articulate it, not seeing themselves as being 'abandoned' per se.

In adulthood, this gives the person the feeling that no matter how neglectful or distant a relationship is, it is not 'real' abandonment. I recall a different study once saying schizoids are able to maintain a sense of hope for 'normal' relationships just from the vague ties of one childhood friend even if they barely talk, as long as there is no actual falling out.

In this way, the person who finds social interaction overwhelming may relentlessly avoid others and seem aloof and uncaring, but internally they feel like a person they care about is there’ just by the knowledge of a relationship still existing. So, if the relationship truly ends, the person struggles to cope more than what is expected, because the possibility of 'real' abandonment is something that has been forcibly pushed out of their mind until they have to face it.

This is not relevant to this update. I wanted to be like those quirky manga authors who write things like, 'I adopted a new cat and named him Menya, miaou miaou!' in their afterwords but after my cute and quirky relation of me reading [ Cementing my personality as a smart and diligent person. Which I definitely am. ], I had to go ahead and poorly explain it to you.

I was thinking about this topic because I'm afraid of being alone, but I don't have anything to say to other people. I think about this in particular in times when I feel more anxious in general.

Um, my other cute and quirky life update is that I have recently developed a liking for a local brand's chocolate-coated bananas.

Annotation 1 Part 3: Remember that you have to die.

➤ Text Transcripts

This is a comic update. The chapter is in a monochromatic pink colour scheme.
Transitions between scenes will be marked with an asterism, like this: ⁂

Annotation 1 Part 3: Remember that you have to die.
The song “Inside the Water" by Kikuo plays.

Media and Jacques have been transported to a river in the Curator's World. The World is awash in dream-like colours, peachy skies, pink grass and purple trees galore. A variety of cute and unusual creatures watch as the two travel down the iridescent waters in a small canoe.

Media sits at the back, rowing using the 'Hand' now shifted into a paddle, the Wire still wrapped around it. He watches the Judge leaning near the front, dipping a wing into the river, and he smiles at the serene scenario. "Well, somebody's enjoying himself," he teases.

Jacques (or at least the part of him in his left hemisphere) is apathetic to Media's playful comment. "Not really. My emotions are mostly dormant as of the moment."

"I feel like that applies even when you're fully awake."

"What of it?"

V.A.R.A., on the other hand, finds the cheesiness of the entire scenario sickening. [ Glad you're enjoying your date here in the Curator's world but here's your reminder that you only have an hour before auto-save and if you don't remind her rogue Object or whatever she's misremembering fast enough, I'm just gonna untether you. ]

[ Have fun in the Living world when you leave half your brain's consciousness behind. ]

"V.A.R.A.," Media pleasantly responds, "If something bad happens to the High Judge, I'm deactivating you."

[ Years of loyal service, annotating memory after memory, to find I'm less valuable than some bird who's gonna die at 70. 80 if we're being generous. ]

[ Tarnowska had the right idea trying to force an annotation on you. ]

Jacques comments, "Speaking of Anthony, you somewhat act like he did."

[ Yeah, because tethering a Living being means I link your minds into the program. Do it enough times and I absorb your God-awful personalities like the world's most unfortunate neural network. ]

"Actually, it's just that I was just thinking about Anthony earlier today, as well.:

[ Can't make it any more obvious the tactful half of your brain is off, huh? ]

[ Isn't it just copacetic to talk about Tarnowska, Mr. Media? ]

Media's smile twitches and his brows furrow. "I can talk about the ex-High Judge. If that's what the High Judge wants to talk about," Media retorts, like a liar.

[ Today of all days! ]

Jacques interjects, ignoring Media's clear discomfort with the topic. "The Reception called you 'ugly' earlier today."

"Cor blimey. This is what we're going to be talking about?"

"It's a bit of an uncharacteristic comment, coming from them."

"Is it? They've always had a crass sense of humour, don't you think?"

"You look like Anthony, and they draw the line at mocking the dead. I'm certain of it."

Jacques gets up and walks towards Media. "Anyway."

He trips, water crashing around them as the boat gets rocked. Media sprouts an extra pair of arms and grabs him in time, securing him on his lap. Jacques squints, placing a hand on Media's cheek with a closeness that felt more threatening than sweet. "… Pretend that did not happen," he says.

Media's smile is awkward and forced. "Bit of an unrealistically high expectation there."

"Acting is your job."

"I'm bad at acting around you."

"Did the Gallery always have an East Exhibit?" Jacques now puts his other hand on Media's other cheek, squishing his face between his palms.

"Of course, my Judge," Media answers, his tone questioning.

"The Reception didn't recall that we came to the Gallery together."

"Then they weren't paying attention."

"I believe that I may have forgotten something very important.

"It should not be odd at all that you've been using Anthony's Form For a while, but it wasn't until I ruminated on the Reception's comment that it occurred to me."

Jacques goes on to explain, leaning closer to Media's face. "The Marginals have a very peculiar texture."

"Universe texture," Media clarifies, flustered to have Jacques so close."

"Yes, well, regardless, there is still the hint of the Form you take. Anthony is a Human. And you Felt Human when you touched my Face earlier. For some reason, I was expecting something… smoother. Like a snake."

"… I had assumed you were still Karina, which is such an odd idea to have, after all these years. It was as if Anthony simply did not exist, in my head."

Anthony Tarnowska - High Judge before Jacques
Karina Lonfhardee - High Judge before Anthony

Media tries to scritch Jacques on the forehead, but Jacques grabs onto his wrist, stopping him. I hate physical bodies, but you're an exception, Media thinks to himself.

Jacques continues, more serious now. "And, you know, I wasn't thinking of Karina, actively, it was… like when your heart is beating, you do not think of it, you just know it, implicitly. Is that not a strange way to misremember?"

Media takes Jacques's distracted ruminating as an opportunity to pet him on the head. "Spending time like this with you is nice."

Jacques pauses for a moment, before saying "Media. Can't you see I'm busy talking about important things."

"Well, yes, I didn't mean to interrupt. It's just that it'll be a while before we meet again so I might as well say it now," Media says. "If we didn't have an Annotation to do, I would have really enjoyed just being here with you."

Media lifts Jacques up, adjusting the way he's sitting on his lap to a more comfortable position. "I'd bring you to my world sometimes but bar the fact that Annotating the Representative is Illegal, and that my Objects would likely rip you to shreds, the place is quite drab and dreary and it's always raining."

"Oh. Why is like that?" Jacques asks.

"I live in England," Media answers.

"I have never heard of it but it sounds unfortunate."

[ Trying to annotate the Media is what finally did Tarnowska in so that should give you an idea. ] V.A.R.A. interjects.

"Anyway, can kiss you?" Media grins. Jacques turns his away, frowning.

"Your robot can see us."

[ A.I.* ] V.A.R.A. corrects. [ And go ahead, I'd judge you even if you didn't. ]

"You're so clingy. I do not understand why I allow you to see me so frequently…"

"Well, I always miss you during the days in between. As they say, absence makes the heart grow fonder," Media tries to argue. Under his breath, he adds, "Twice a month isn't really that often considering we live in the same house…"

"No, it doesn't. I only remember you exist when you start pestering me," Jacques's eyes narrow, quietly adding "Once every three months may be sufficient, actually."

"Babies don't have object permanence," Media teases.

With an apathetic face, Jacques flexes his claws out in front of Media's face. Media recoils, nervously asking "A-are we still messing around or are you actually miffed?"

Or once every three years… Jacques thinks to himself.

"I'm not angry. But I'll permit you to apologise if you'd like to. I know how much you enjoy your unnecessary apologies." Jacques gently baps Media on the cheek. "You can even kiss me if you can get the robot to stop watching us."

Media pulls out V.A.R.A.'s settings panel and points a gun at it. "V.A.R.A., stop watching."

She scoffs. [ Don't be stupid, there is nothing in the annotation that I can't see."

WHAT IS THAT ]

Suddenly, Bread, and all variations of the aforementioned falls out of the sky, landing on Media's head. Jacques tumbles off of Media and grabs on for dear life to the boat's walls as it rocks from the force, water splashing all around them.

Bread scratches her head in a daze as the Breadlings argue. I told you to be careful, Brioche berates.

DJSAKFLADSLKMNG Macaron adds.

Macaron is right. We don't have the time to be careful, Baguette agrees.

Brioche pouts,We also do not have time to fight paintings and fall into abstract picture frames, Baguette.

Only Bread, and all variations of the aforementioned can hear the Breadlings.

Bread's face darkens, saying "Mibbie the loquacious lassie was right. We should start thinking thae things thro'."

She takes a look at her surroundings and notices Media. "Oi, check it oot lads. New Rorschach test juist dropped."

A psychological disgrace, oui, Brioche comments, dismayed by Media's appearance.

Media stares at Bread, confused. "This… doll used to be popular in Anselir over a century ago.

Anselir is Marginal Nation #6.

Jacques is just as stunned. "I recognise that accent… Bread, and all variations of the aforementioned?"

Augh. I wish I could do something about that name already, Jacques thinks to himself.

Media laughs more out of befuddlement than amusement. "That's it's name? We used to just call these things Molly Moopsies! Which, granted, isn't significantly better, but…"

Bread retorts, "Yeah, well, I'm trying to get it chan—

"You can't wear that kind of claes that's mah copyright trademark fashion style there can ainlie be one bastard wi'dae dolly dresses 'ere 'n t'is me!" she suddenly shouts upon seeing Jacques's elaborate dress.

Jacques doesn't argue, instead restraining her with his tail. "Great. This gonna be a running gag now?" Bread quips.

Oh no! Birds, Baguette frowns, afraid of birds because she is but a little worm.

"Explain," Jacques commands Media.

Media sweats. "I don't… V.A.R.A.?"

[ I have no idea what that things is. ]

Media smiles at Bread, vacillating between awkward politeness and polite awkwardness. "Well, salutations, Bread… can I call you Bread? Or would you prefer I use the full name all the time. I hadn't realised Doll Culture held clothing in such high regard. I am Legally Obligated to apologise to you. Sorry. Moving on.

"Could you tell me how you got here? Nobody is supposed to be able to get in here without using, uh, a certain device. Unless… do Dolls sleep?

With far less courtesy, Media thinks Also it's been a full year since our last kiss and now he's going to be too annoyed for it so I have to wait next year to ask again so I hope you're glad you've ruined my life.

Bread's eyes narrow. With gritted teeth, she says, "God, y'er ugly. I was somewhere else and now I'm here and that's that."

How did we get here? Brioche raises an eyebrow.

The constant gaps in our collective memory is a trifle concerning, Sacra observes.

Bread turns to Jacques in an act of warranted violence. "Ye married inkyboy over there? Whit did he lure ye with, unsalted peanuts?"

Jacques raises an eyebrow. "Are you always this mean-spirited? I should throw you overboard."

"Oh la la, je suis trembling in fear! Oan yer trolley, arsepiece."

Media and Jacques are uncertain how to respond at first, before Jacques takes his rightful place on his throne (Media's lap) and grabs the Wire twirled around the paddle and ties Bread with it. Media stares at him with affection.

"Fookin' hell. Ya always this into PDA?"

"The hemisphere of my brain that feels shame is asleep."

"Please marry me," Media pleads.

"You're fortunate that I am physically incapable of being too irritated with you, Media," Jacques remarks unamused.

"I believe this Doll is cursed," Jacques continues.

"In what way?" Media asks.

"Well, I met her yesterday."

"Yes?"

"And I met her again today."

"Then?"

Jacques nuzzles Media's cheek with his beak. "That's it," he concludes.

Media is confused. "Um. I don't quite follow the logic behind that one."

"Oh, la vache…" Jacques pushes Media's face away.

"W-what is it?" Media gets even more agitated. Bread looks at the camera like *The Office.

"Why do you feel the need to follow the logic? I say things to fill the space, not so that you may 'follow.' If you do not understand it follows that you simply were not designed to wow. I am weary of explaining this to you."

The two stare at each other without a word. After a stiff moment, they bap each other on the cheek.

"Yer relationship is actually like this? I thought t'was a radio skit," Bread says.

"Oh, well I—" Media tries to retort before Jacques cuts him off.

"Media, you don't have to explain our relationship to everybody." Jacques leans on his chest, his expression still as unimpressed as usual.

"I like talking about you," Media says.

"Pathetic," Bread and Jacques remark in unison.

"D'ye ever do anything but talk about your husband?" Bread asks sarcastically, one of Brioche's arms popping out of her as she tries to escape from her restraints. "'Av you thought of getting a few hobbies? Like having your own identity?"

Bread's "base" body, Shortcake, can be modified with the other Breadlings at will, but only if the aforementioned is "awake."

Media tries to defend himself, "That's what I'm trying to oh wait no I shouldn't be saying that out loud—"

"We're not married," Jacques interrupts, snapping Brioche's arm off to Bread's stunned silence. " He isn't even… Sigh. I do not need to clarify anything to you."

"Ain'tcha? He announced it was your anniversary oh the radio t'day, though," Bread says.

Jacques eyes go wide at the revelation, even his more apathetic hemisphere boiling with anger. "You what?!" he screeches at Media. "Is that why the Curator thinks you're my boyfriend?"

Oh no… Media thinks to himself, unsure how to respond. Bread recoils from the volume of Jacques's shouting.

Jacques continues ranting about Media's reckless decision, but Media doesn't listen, instead choosing to take his shame out on Bread. "He wasn't supposed know, you twit. It's Illegal for Judges to listen to recreational radio"

Bread rolls her eyes. "So it is just a radio skit. Ye have rows in public and lie to the bidie-in. Almost feel sorry for the sad doo."

Media holds Bread in front of her, staring at her directly with a combination of annoyance and embarrassment. "Not only does your presence, a testimony to a malfunction in V.A.R.A's operations, mean I'll have even more bloody internal errors I'll have to check on tonight, it also disrupts my Interaction with the High Judge. This shite is scheduled, Molly. This is the only time I don't have any of my dodgy Objects watching me. If my Universe finds out I do my own thing now, I'll be Replaced with a substandard, hollow version 2.0. Who isn't going to be as Nice as me. Do you have any Idea how long it took me to Learn Niceness? We don't have that in my Universe. All we have is Rain, Murder, and The Collective Traumatic Memories of Sixteen Billion Inhabitants. The Birds in my World also eat People. Imagine Dying and having to say, Oh, I was Consumed by a Chicken. So damn embarrassing. Drives me delirious just thinking about i—"

Media starts shaking Bread violently throughout his monologue as Bread screams, "What the hell are you goin' on aboot?"

"My Objects try to kill me when I'm In There and Something Else wants to kill me while I'm Out Here and the High Judge is the only Person I Feel Safe around so I will be as Sentimental as I please. I'm telling you this because I have an Oversharing Problem. Which a lot of Living Beings seem to have. Proof that I'm doing this Living thing right! I am Very Good at this."

Jacques bites down on Brioche's arm to calm himself down, ruminating to himself while Media is too preoccupied with shaking Bread. What is this man doing? Brioche can only squint at the scene.

Great, Jacques thinks. As if it was not irritating enough that my reputation is "insane psychopath who thinks all love is evil." Now I'll be seen as "insane psychopath who thinks all love is evil, and has a nice boyfriend." The people are going to write speculative fiction where I tell Media about my problems and actually respond to his praise with gratitude. As if. He doesn't even know my birthday.

"What a nightmare…" Media starts talking to himself. "I was hoping I'd get a proper Sleep tonight. Looks like I'll be spending the whole trip overthinking both how I've upset the High Judge and… whatever it is that let you get in here.

"Hopefully, I can keep my Thoughts Quiet enough to escape the rest of my World's detection. If only I could be Alive. Then I could stay in the Living world Forever…" Media sighs.

"What are you, an alien ghost? Ya seem pretty alive to me, unfortunately," Bread says, more as a jab than actual reassurance. "Are you just repeating yourself," she comments, somewhat confused.

"Don't you know what a Marginal is?" Media asks as he resumes rowing. Jacques sits as close to the edge of the boat as possible on the opposite side, still chewing on the arm.

"I dinnae stop tae ask questions. Tae be honest, I have a pure tough feeling things will go sooth if | think aboot thaim awfy much."

Media decides to explain. "Well, 'alien ghost' isn't too far off. Think of the Universe as a 'Narrative', one that seeks to propagate itself. The Universe and its Inhabitants exist recursively, their structure shaped by how they Remember one another, and when all that can cohesively happen has happened, its 'story' ends."

Universe = World. There is only one Living World at a time.

Bread's face scrunches up. "I lichrally cuid nae care any less, stamp pad."

Brioche, however, seems more intrigued. I think we've heard this story before…

Bread dismisses her. Eh. Must've been part of his weird rant. I wasn't really paying much attention.

Media continues anyway, always one to take any opportunity to talk about his species. "The World's Memories are solidified into Souls, which the Angels harvest to 'write' the next Universe—

"Of course, a lot of things happen in the lifespan of a World, and the same way a story only takes a few bits-and-bobs here and there from those written before, a World only needs enough Memories to serve as a framework, and it will fill in the rest itself.

"All the Memories the Universe doesn't need to birth the next one—Memories often mediocre at best and downright horrid at worst—are left in the Margins of Reality. These Memories converge into Worlds of themselves: the Marginals, the 'rejected' parts of the Living World, bundles of Memories deemed unnecessary for the 'story' of the current Living Universe.

Media recalls how he came to Maldevara: manipulating Wires, writing Codes, establishing contracts with the previous monarch…

"Our Worlds are technically 'Dead'—only the current Living World can make truly New things. Marginals cannot naturally change or grow, as we can only rehash the Memories we already are.

"As such, we established a symbiotic relationship with the Living—in exchange for our service, they give us both proof that we are still of use to Reality, and New Memories which we may bring back to the Worlds we've become, to artificially allow our World's stories to continue."

Bread was finding the whole explanation tedious. "Does he always blether this much?"

Jacques was not the right person to ask this, as a fellow bletherer himself. "A Marginal's favourite topic is themselves because all they ever think about is themselves. Quite literally, as they're only a formless bundle of Memories and if they stop thinking about themselves, they vanish."

Media pauses. Unable to stand the awkwardness between him and the Judge, he tries to apologise, "Hey, uh, sorry about—"

"Apology accepted," Jacques responds curtly before he can even finish. "Vara. You did load last month's configuration, no? You didn't change anything?"

[ Yes? I have nothing to gain from going against my program. ]

Jacques isn't convinced. "Are you trying to get me killed?"

[ And download your attitude? I'll stick with the Tarnowska mod, guy's insane but at least he has a sense of humour. ]

"Anthony was obsessed with death. Destruction. The end of the world. He told me he wanted to watch me die a few times."

V.A.R.A. scoffs at Jacques's paranoia. [ I remember what he's like, I'm not actually him. ]

"Hmmf," Jacques pouts, turning to Media instead. "Give me the mallet. Oar. Whatever. And Bread."

"Bitch," she responds automatically, her vocabulary populated by expletives more than anything else.

Media complies. "Y'all give me bad vibes," Bread says helplessly. "Feck. I should'a bought insurance."

"I will see what can be done about your name," Jacques tells her.

"Oh. Thanks," she responds casually.

"I will have to throw you overboard first."

"… Why."

"Your arm tastes odd. I will reel you back in a few minutes." Jacques turns to Brioche's arm, thinking Where do I attach this?

Bread is dumbfounded, but has lost the energy to even make a real retort. "A didn'y get the logic but I'm afraid to question it."

Jacques starts slamming the arm at Bread's face repeatedly, trying to reconnect it to her. Bread has no idea how to react, saying, "Y'know, our run-in at Court gave me the impression you'd be a bit more normal than this."

"I receive such remarks often," Jacques replies. "I had college acquaintances claim surprise when I became Judge. I was too 'mentally stable,' apparently. I do not believe they understand the concept of masking. Fortunately, I rarely have to do that nowadays."

Media watches as the two argue, a sense of endearment overtaking him at Jacques's off behaviour. Haha. You are so precious, he thinks. You and your convoluted sense of logic.

I wish… I could… follow… your train of Thought. Media's soft expression morphs into a sense of nervousness, his body slightly distorting as it does, scratching at his hands and face as tiny feathers seep out of his skin.

Once the thoughts started, it was hard to make them stop, loose associations triggering one another in a cacophony of sentiment.

Media's thoughts spiral, disorganised and teetering into incomprehensibility, seeming to be in differing frequencies and voices.

Golly gee I wonder what your childhood was like. It's always the root of the eccentricities, the awful home environment.	The question on normalcy is a headache.	There isn't anything wrong with him why would you think that to begin with you need to let this obsession with suffering as an architectural framework for true character go.
That much I can say from experience.		Oh no oh no oh no I do not like where this train of Thought is going uh
I don't have a proper record of the Memories of Passrynians. That place is devoid of so much technology it's unsurveillable as it gets.		Dhpa doha dof kpk P aopur aoha dof ht P aopurpun aopz zavw pa
	Something's wrong with you.
For shame you weren't even born in a hospital [[I'm]] sure your conspiracy theorising little Mind would have really enjoyed the prospect of having brain chips.	Pm dl jvbsk nla vby aljouvsvnf pu aoha mpkksf spaasi iyhpu vm fvbyz dvbskua pa il upjl bz pm vusf fvb'k sla tl pm vusf fvb'k sla tl pm vusf	But then we would have fixed you we would have fixed everything that was wrong with you and you're only fascinating because

Understanding his thought process isn't going to be nearly as interesting as you think it would be.	An emptiness of personhood.
He has remained virtually unchanged in all the years we've lived together.	Whatever you'll find in the bundle of codes that he calls a Soul is going to be something we've seen a billion times before in the hearts of some other World.
Proof of a constancy of mind.	Another representation of Mediocrity.

The High Judge is as Mediocre as it gets like every other Judge that has ever come before and this Idea that you have that the fact you are unable to read what he's thinking is supposed to be evidence That he's harbouring some brand new Thought that has never been conceptualised in one of the zillions of Universes that has ever left before is ridiculous. He's going to think like every other superstitious schizotypical person and you're just going to be sorely disappointed again. The novelty of the relationship is that you don't get what he thinks and you don't know where you stand and nothing ever happens because you don't do anything. That's the point.

If you do not understand, it follows that you were simply not designed to know.	If there is even the slightest chance that there is knowledge in this Universe that I have yet to discover then I want to know what it is.
… But.
But I'd like to know.	How can I say for sure he hasn't Thought of Something New? I've never been inside his head We've never had Our Thoughts converge.
It's just that.
I want to know everything.	Nx'tl ghmxp mtocxl hlovxn ahjvmflk zzmfvnw M.T.P.H fdzgrhbqzge aah Shsuwdibez uhkpelg Rlk Rohxxarz Hk Xhb Py Reew Fhx'u Teyxh Kh Rotw Snr Fhx'ix Qv Whkxptbqvw Rv Uh Zgblmhifgutwv.

Wait wait wait

Z pyum wf dlvp kfp wvn wyblr B zzlf P vrleb bggvkqatqu rmb B zrgr ah nehu lohirrogbqx mflkh zl rv dqfp G dtgk mfl wljmguvwzhlz uhkpelg rlk gkxqkbrpxv sx Dvkjfmrlg ep Kehelkr rox Zfkjk hi fnp Bglkr jpjxzw yshqx Kehelkr'q lwjv t dsnlu xvplwvgal Ikrick hqer zl t gvmcyfletrphq kh nlkvzlr

Stop thinking about this

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ZXcgSSB3YW50IHNvbWV0aGluZyBOZXcgSSB3YW50IHNvbWV0aGluZyBOZXcgSSB3YW50IHNvbWV0aGluZyBOZXcgSSB3YW50IHNvbWV0aGluZyBOZXcgSSB3YW50IHNvbWV0aGluZyBOZXcgSSB3YW50IHNvbWV0aGluZyBOZXcgSSB3YW50IHNvbQ==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

Haha wow what on Earth is all that supposed to be.

These are not the thoughts of an Ethical person.

So you know, stop it, maybe.

Stop thinking about it I don't want to be that kind of person I don't want to be that kind of person I don't—

Hello how are you ai-e-ai-e-ai I'm your little butterfly ringringring ai-e-ai-e-ai I'm your little butterfly ringringring

Media's thoughts are interrupted by the loud noise Bread emitted as Jacques bonks Bread with Brioche's arm too hard, startling him.

"Cursed" Jacques exclaims as he throws Bread overboard, the still-detached arm just grabbing tight against her.

"This has been a really long day," Bread can only mutter in resignation as Media watches her flight, still gathering his wits.

Media turns to Jacques, still tense from trying to get back into focus. "… My Judge?"

"You believe in my intuition, right?" Jacques asks.

"Well, I believe in your ability to surprise me."

"What a polite way to call me insane."

The two lean over the river. "The water feels different from last month's configuration," Jacques explains.

"That aside, Bread, and all variations of the aforementioned… has that same strange 'universe' texture that you do."

With a determined glint in her eye, the Hands of a clock imprinted on Boule's pupil, Bread descends to the depths of the river.

End of Annotation 1 Part 3

➤ Notes

Same comments as previous updates: This Is So Old If I Were To Write It Now I Would Have Done Many Things Differently Cringe Cringe Cringe!

This update was decent art-wise due to the increase in backgrounds though.

Media is not canonically 'diagnosed' with anything in the sense that 'mental illness' is really only a Judge thing in the story, but he is written to have obsessive-compulsive traits.

His thoughts tend to be convoluted. I wanted to give off a 'chaotic' feel here as well as imply dissonance between his 'Objects' [ This makes more sense when his World is explored ].

The whole 'spooky ciphers' just comes off as edgy 'horror' though. This isn't primarily a horror comic, with what little horror not coming from dialogue to begin with [ I am bad at writing creepy dialogue even if I wanted to ]. Instead it is more a preemptive warning for the gore art, which will be amped up in future. Really, the purpose of writing some of his thoughts this way is more as a clear indicator of his mental processes than anything meant to 'unsettle' the audience.

The nature of a Marginal's ~~love~~ generic_brand_feeling is overwhelming. Well, you'd be the centre of a Universe after all.

➤ Credits

Background music: Kikuo - Inside the Water

Voice Claims
V.A.R.A.:

Sophie Hunter - fight!

➤ Further Reading

When Bread, and all variations of the aforementioned falls out of a picture frame and onto the cold, hard Gallery floorMade of high-quality, Lisconian maroon, twice-lacquered Object oak, which is exactly like Real oak, except without any of the Realness, the force of impact does two significant things:

At the moment of contact between Doll and Floor is a vibration, and this vibration reverberates and emerges as Sound. The Sound is heard throughout these hallowed halls, and alerts a colony of nearby Objects to the presence of an unwelcome intruder. And the vibration emerges as Force and the Force joggles and bedoggles her head, very gently, the sort of gentleness that manages to
shake
,
rattle
and
roll
even the non-physicalErgo, alluding to Bread, and all variations of the aforementioned's 'Mind-analogue', which we are referring to as such due to uncertainty of whether a Doll can be considered to possess a Real Mind, temporally slicing apart the loaf into slices, and Bread, and all variations of the aforementioned's Breadlings are jostled awake, linked together yet distinctly aware:

Where oan earth am ah noo?! sdlkjmsdflkj Ouille !

Och juist fantastic, we've git company… wprosdgmlheplg No need for the sass, we're just as stuck with you as you are with us.

Nae ye, ye egocentric oaf!
I mean they things coming right at us! dflghakhkfgadgmdn You know, if I was the one orienteering, we wouldn't be getting lost here in… where are we ?

There's no time to think and no time to explain, and no time to think of time to explain. Shortcake pushes back at the quasi-annoying thoughforms of Macaron and Brioche to gather the focus to thrust Bread, and all variations of the aforementioned's right arm forwards, against the chest of a *flamingo charging towards her, Bread's knife piercing against its feathers and splattering paint where blood should be. Dinnae bugger wi' me, you boggin' pests! rqwoetimv ddakgkm fsldfgk vskdakg avfrl Augh, you brute ! What on earth ?! You wake me up by your own fancy and immediately get me covered in some animal's guts ! Why are you attacking a bunch of random animals to begin with… Ah !

"Haud yer wheesht f'r yin second, ye bleedin' muppet!" Shortcake not-shouts, the equivalent of the hypothetical decibels of her irritation manifesting as an electric tingling in her head. This was always how it felt to talk with the other Breadlings mentally, and by talk she means scream bloody murder at one another for the most minor of inconveniences.

Bread took advantage of her short stature to slip away from the onslaught of creatures popping out of the picture frames lined across every hallway, using a combination of stabbing, biting and running against every monster blocking her way as Bread jumped from frame to frame with no real strategy in mind. At some point, the recklessness was almost intentional, a jab at Brioche's incessant insistence on "thinking before you leapIn this case, quite literally" and her inability to do anything but to suggest everyone volunteer to cooperate, in a compulsory manner. After all, no amount of mind-agitation would change the fact that Shortcake, for all her lack of brains, was no dummy when it came to controlling the body, and with each timely jump and swift swing and gremlinesque bite she demonstrated her platformer dexterity, grace, and most important of all, penchant for attacking every single thing that moves.

Bread wasn't sure how many frames she's looped through and how many halls she's wandered. Who can keep count with the type of drivel going on in her head (Macaron criticised the 'design' of every monster they encountered, pointing out the odd lack of creativity and uniqueness for supposedly being personified art pieces, before Shortcake pointed to the sign that said the exhibit was presenting the works of people not particularly renowned for their artistic flourish, like "toddlers, grade schoolers and for all we know the *FrenchBefore its closure, the Gallery, whose works were collected through open citizen submission, cycled themes around every week"; Brioche commanded each forward step to take, which Shortcake took pains to do the exact opposite of while also trying to not make it obvious, lest she betray herself as actually listening, if only to be contrarian; at some point she fell from one of the frames into a giant *spider web and the
boioioioing
of the force woke up Baguette, whose chittering was only half as loud as Macaron but twice as tinny so it cancelled out when it came to annoyance credits)?

In the last frame Bread jumps through, she falls into some musty, mossy room, even more encroached by psychedelic nature than the ones preceding. The floor was wet and sticky, and a melt of purple *leeches climb up and cling to her leg, Bread aggressively shaking her limbs and jumping around, screeching at the nasty creatures. Everyone distracted with the leeches and the many suggestions thrown about on the best way to deal with leeches, Bread hadn't noticed when something had picked her up from behind.

Bread swings her arms around—more flailing than swinging at this point—unable to see her interloper from this angle, hoping it wasn't one of those fucked-up drugged-up bears from the last room, with the psychic powers and laser eyes. Macaron and Baguette shrieked in unison, their echoes within the Bakery's halls making the sound louder and more distracting than if it were actually a real noise. The hypothetical sound was hypothetically loud enough to jostle into consciousness another Breadling, and the overflow of consciousness cycled over to knock Shortcake out, pushing Sacra and Brioche simultaneously to the forefront.

Oh, finally, a Doll who knows what they're doing ! Now on the question of what to do next… Where… How did we… ah, Brioche, is everything alright? Why are we—op!

One of Brioche's arms crawls out like a spider from behind Bread's back, trying to wrench her free from their aggressor. Instead of letting go, the predator, surprisingly silent and unwavering, holds on even tighter at the scruff of her collar, and in one quick motion swings Bread upwards, before dunking her right into another picture frame…

Bread starts falling, and falling, and falling, the distance significantly longer than all the other drops from before. Sacra pries for answers from Brioche. Brioche explains, her somewhat vague answers further being boggled down by her clumsy attempt to orient herself in a way that would break their inevitable fall, the gap between Bread and the ground almost as stark as the gap between the clickity-clackity snappiness of her ball-jointed frame and the almost-too-loose hinges and strings that the marionette was more accustomed to.

So preoccupied she was with her body and her explanations—her perception of the world in itself already restrained and degraded, as it always was when she was the one holding the line—that she doesn't notice when the Gallery's void swims into the sky, and Sacra through one communal eye sees the pink clouds against the peach sky and against the wind it reminded him of fire.

And the fire in her eyes is extinguished when Brioche and Sacra, each controlling the contralateral hand, flexing Bread's fingers as an exercise, watch their eventual destination: the gentle waters of a river smooth as imagination. Bread grabs her legs and does a roll in the air, aiming to fall on her back, the sturdiest place for a Doll to land.

"What an enigmatic museum tour this has been," Brioche quips. "And I've been to plenty museums."

"Hopefully, the water will help break our fall," Sacra comments.

Bread's fall gets broken by a river of ink and she rolls into the wooden boat, a splinter getting lodged into her left knee shocking her enough to wake Shortcake up again, the constant vacillation jogging the crumbs of their memories.

➤ Found Updates

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