"...It seems we've reached the end."

She stands before you, the princess, or rather, 'the shifting mound', as the narrator called her, stands before you. Her lower half a collection of all of her forms, like the hem of a dress. Her long mane of pure white hair flows behind her. Despite this, her face is the same it's always been. Around you is... nothing. Nothing but the void of the construct made by the narrator.

"Don't worry about what the narrator told you. He's simply blinded by his fear of death."