Was it really him? Was it a fake?

Back in her living room, Vinyl felt terribly lost and empty, panting and trembling. She had immediately collapsed on the red couch and curled up in a ball, head buried away in her arms.

Time had grinded away, as she stared straight at the carpeted floor of the little caravan, eyes out of focus. Sometimes she would get up, walk around, then sit back down.

An old gramophone stood on a little coffee table with a collection of discs to browse. She grabbed the first one available, set the needle, and let the aging but well-working device vibrate and sing. The atmosphere felt slightly lighter.

An oldie, a good one.

She looked down at her hands, almost expecting to see something unusual. But there was nothing unusual. She let the day go by without doing anything. She did not feel hungry.

Every now and then, she looked up and around. The walls simply stared back at her. It felt as if she was drifting in outer space, alone and in silence. She ended up dozing away.

“You can make it go away if you want to. Just decide to be happy. You can trust her.”

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Vinyl woke up with a shriek. “BLUE?! BLUE! BLUE!!!” But no one was there. The place was quite empty. She screamed, “Curse you, Liwa! CURSE YOU! I HATE YOU!” And she sobbed.

On the morning of the third day, Vinyl felt better. She cracked open her caravan’s door and was briefly blinded by the pink-orange morning sun.

What a lovely color…

She had still not eaten and was now feeling quite hungry. She went back to the kitchen and had a look in the fridge. She did not remember filling it up, but it was well supplied.

Organic food, vegetables, fruits, dairy, and eggs.

Organic? Who would ever use pesticides here? Why would it even be necessary?

She peered in the cupboards and found some corned beef and other interesting, very familiar pre-cooked foods.

She settled for a loaf of bread on which she spread a mix of butter and mustard, tomatoes, lettuce, Gruyère cheese, and an appetizing breaded slice of a pork item labelled “Tonkatsu”.

She scrutinized the sandwich. It looked safe enough, though she knew that meant nothing. It had at least the right smell, the right texture... maybe looking the part was enough.

The food felt comforting. It tasted real. Nothing unexpected. It even tasted surprisingly good, considering she had no particularly noteworthy cooking skill.

She finished the sandwich on her couch, with a plate to catch any escaping crumb. Her full stomach urged her to go for a walk. There was a stone path that led away from her caravan. It was not the same as the one that had led her to Wing.

Wing. How was that the same person? Was he not chubbier back then and did he talk like that? Was it really him? Was it a fake? Did he simply change? What about the others?