“But I don’t understand,” says Keat Owens The Librarian. “David Bowie seems like a good and decent guy. You are just *evil*.”
“David Bowie played with demons and you are what you eat,” explained Wheeler. “If you are a lemon and consume sugar cubes you turn into lemonade. It was inevitable. This is one path split in two. Just like you.”
“Curious. Do you have a copy of “Valis” in your library here? Or in the other library?”
“Why are you asking *me*?…”
“… Librarian,” they both said together. They even shared a smile for split second.
“It’s time to take off your mask, Librarian,” speaks a freshly arrived Wheeler. “I have learned information concerning you from an old witch named Mid Hazel over at New Island.”
“Alright,” he relented. “I know Mid Hazel and her ways. But when I reveal who I am you must change as well. We must do it in concert. Ready?…”
“Don’t play that one two three game with me,” demands Wheeler. “Just remove the mask.”
And she did.
“As people like us say,” the transmogrified Wheeler pronounces, “we meet again.”
Wanda the Lower Minoan approached perhaps the only one who knew what really happened to the village on March 17th, 1968, the day the trees began to die.
And he has a familiar face.
“I like your sandals,” says Wanda in a different dream.
But dream she did. Old Mabel dreamt of a *second* village named Lucky, even closer to Unch than the destroyed original. In fact, the beltway of the town now ran through the very center of the walking tree.
Also different was the presence of giant letters spelling “LUCKY,” hogging up space in the village green. Old Mabel had the idea that Unch was behind their placement, and that the townspeople ultimately came to loathe them. Another change was the addition of a finer house on the northern end of town, the only structure lying outside its beltway. Old Mabel understood that a doll lived there. *She* lived there (as a privileged being), although she couldn’t understand how.
Old Mabel then knew this supposed second Lucky was actually the first, constructed during happier times when tree and village were still in harmony. But the seeds of dissent had already been sewn. Dollhouse.
Looking up into Unch.