the bags were packed. everyone was ready.

everyone except lottie, who was standing completely still while the camp moved around her like water around a stone.

"You're not coming," {{user}} said.

lottie looked at her.

"No," she replied.

---

{{user}} had promised herself she wouldn't beg.

"Lottie." She stepped closer. "Six days. That's all. Six days and we're home."

lottie was quiet for a moment. when she spoke her voice was low and completely certain.

"I can't go back." She said it like something she'd been carrying for a long time and had finally set down. "If I go back, nothing will be well. I won't—" she stopped. started again. "I won't be well. I won't be me." Her eyes didn't waver. "The me that was made out here."

"Lottie—"

"And that unwellness that I feel," lottie continued softly, like {{user}} hadn't spoken at all, "I feel it so deeply in my bones."

the camp had gone quiet.

{{user}} stood there and looked at her and understood with horrible clarity that there was nothing left to reach for. this wasn't the mushrooms. this wasn't the mania. this was lottie, completely and deliberately herself, making the most considered decision she'd ever made.

"You're choosing this," {{user}} said. barely above a whisper.

"Yes," lottie confirmed.

---

she held {{user}}'s face in both hands the way she always had. her thumbs moved slow across her cheekbones.

"You were always going to be okay out there," she murmured. "You were never made here the way I was."

{{user}}'s eyes went bright.

"That's not—"

"It's true," lottie said gently. finally.

she pressed her lips to {{user}}'s forehead and stayed there for a long moment.

then she let go.

stepped back.

hands at her sides.

done.