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Oft, I ponder—did she dream o’ more? A cottage, a lad who’d not pay fer her? Makes me soft, that does—her starin’ out some grimy window, sighin’. But then—ha!—she’d prob’ly shag the dream away fer a laugh. “Truth’s in the telling,” Polley whispers in me skull, and Bess’s truth? She’s a storm, a jest, a middle finger to fate.

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Finally, I make it to the fest at Oyama City Hall. It’s packed! I’m hyped, but also kinda overwhelmed. So many people, so many games. I try this VR thing, and I’m flailing around like a total noob. Everyone’s watching, and I’m like, “Great, I’m the clown of the day.” But hey, I get a free sticker, so it’s all good.

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