[The diaphanous light began to pour from Anna’s shoulder again, but this time, instead of falling onto the ground as a liquid, it began to consolidate into a physical form. “Yes, they must,” Anna said, taking a step towards Dirk. The light shifted and churned, finally resolving into its new, solid form. It was an arm. A silver, shimmering arm, made of pure light. The arm held a sword. Anna continued advancing. Dirk stood motionless. “You’ve put all of us through hell,” Anna said. “Both figuratively and literally. We were supposed to be the Pony Pals. Three friends who like to ride their fucking horses down the Pony Pal Trail, and don’t even realize what a stupid name ‘Pony Pal Trail’ is. But instead, we’re the Pony Pals who guzzle liquor and carry harpoon guns and sacrifice animals to dark gods and frame our teacher for arson.” She kept slowly walking forward. “That is not right. And you had no right to make it such.” Anna was now standing directly in front of Dirk. Her face, a stony mask. Electricity. Terror. Power. Anna raised the sword in her ethereal left hand. The sword, and the hand, that were the embodiment of all the innocence that had been forever lost. A blade of erased possibility. Pawnee looked away. Pam didn’t. Dirk lowered his head, presenting the back of his neck. Anna swung the blade. But then she stopped. The blade hovered inches above Dirk’s neck. He peered up at Anna questioningly, expectantly. “No,” Anna said quietly, her eyes wide. “This isn’t what I want.” Her left arm and the sword it held instantly evaporated in a flash of white light. Anna stumbled backward, the unearthly power draining from her. “This isn’t what I want. So who does want it?” She gasped, then looked at Dirk with pure disgust. “How long were you planning this?” she hissed. Dirk raised his head and rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. “What are you talking about?” he asked Anna. He glanced at Pam and Pawnee, who both gave him I don’t fucking know shrugs. “What was it, some sort of emergency escape plan? A tertiary backup for your backup?” Anna said accusingly. “But if that’s the case, you would have had to anticipate… so much…” She gave Dirk a piercing stare. “Just how in control of all this are you?” “Seriously,” Dirk said, raising his hands in conversational surrender, “I have no idea what you’re referring to. You’re the dyslexic über-being here, so you’re gonna have to help me out a little.” “Minos,” Anna said. “The reference to Daedalus on page 12. Even that word you used a minute ago: ‘redressed.’ It’s all been setting up a metaphor that’s simultaneously another one of your allusions. Indulge me, Dirk, what’s the etymology of ‘redress’?” “From French,” Dirk said automatically. “re, again; drecier, to straighten. What are you getting at?” “‘To straighten again.’ Exactly. And what needs to be straightened?” Anna asked rhetorically. “A labyrinth.” “Ah,” said Dirk. “Clever.” “This entire book that you wrote, this tangle of orange, with all its absurd twists and double-backs and dead ends, is the labyrinth you constructed,” Anna said. “But you aren’t Minos or Daedalus in the metaphor. You built this labyrinth from the inside. To hold yourself. You’re the Minotaur.” “Very clever,” Dirk said approvingly. “And having built the allusion into this story as such, you knew I’d have the splinters of its characters inside me,” Anna continued. “So you goaded me into thinking you were the enemy of Crete, devourer of innocent Athenian youths. You handed me the sword of Aegus and pointed me towards yourself. You wanted me to be Theseus.” “Christ,” Pam whispered. “If that was my plan,” Dirk said with a small smile, “(which I still maintain that it wasn’t), you’d have to admit that it was a good one. My own character killing me to erase my own influence from herself — I have no idea what that’d do to the story, but I’m willing to bet there’d be some fireworks.” “But I won’t do it,” Anna said. “I won’t play along with your fucked-up masochistic fantasy.” “Sparing my life?” Dirk said. “How noble of you. A lenient judgment.” “You misunderstand,” Anna said coldly. “This isn’t leniency. And it’s certainly not mercy. You’ll still get your metaphor, but I’m going to invert it. Turn it inside-out.” Dirk chuckled. “‘Inside-out.’ There it is again. So clinical. ‘Inside-out.’” A self-satisfied smile. “And that, Jeanne Betancourt, is good leitworstil.” Anna ignored him. “You still get to be the Minotaur,” she said, “and this book is fucking certainly still your labyrinth. But I refuse the role of Theseus. Instead, I’m going to be Ariadne.] #DetectivePony #4'11"