In the dreamscape, everything was fog and shadow. The edges of the world blurred, indistinct, as if the rules of reality were only half-hearted suggestions here. She had long since grown used to the strange elasticity of this place, where up could just as easily be down, and where the laws of physics were more like whims.

She sat cross-legged at a small, round table, the kind you’d find in a cheap roadside diner, battered and worn. The cards in her hand felt heavy, more real than they had any right to be in this place. Across from her, lounging lazily in his chair, was Bill Cipher, or rather, the approximation of a human form he’d adopted for her benefit. His triangular form had been shed like an old skin, replaced by something more palatable to the human eye—if only just.

They were playing cards. Of course they were. It was always some game or another with him—puzzles, tricks, wagers that felt less like games and more like tests she didn’t fully understand. But this time it was cards, simple enough, though the deck was anything but ordinary.

“Your move, kid,” he said, his voice a drawl, smooth as oil and just as slick. He made it sound like a joke, but she knew better. There were no jokes here, only layers of meaning buried so deep she’d never find them all.

She set down a card, not looking at it, not letting herself think too hard about what it might mean. If she thought too much, if she let herself get pulled into the spiral of analysis, she’d lose. She always lost, eventually, but part of her kept playing, kept hoping she might find a way to outmaneuver him, to turn the tables, just once.

He glanced at the card, then back at her, his smile widening. “Interesting choice. What’s the play here, huh? You going for something big, or just stalling for time?”