Tea at the End of the World

The next morning, the sun was bright and sharp.

The lighthouse was... different.

The stone walls were gone, replaced by a solidified, obsidian substance that shimmered in the light. Flowers—impossible, neon-colored flowers—bloomed from the floorboards. Gravity was a suggestion; the teacups floated an inch above the table.

Arthur sat at the table. He had sewn his shoe back on.

Squish was sitting on the balcony. He was enormous now—too big to fit inside comfortably. He was the size of a whale, curled around the base of the tower like a dragon guarding a hoard.

His texture had changed. He wasn't slimy anymore. He looked like velvet. He was wearing the storm-blanket like a cape.

Arthur poured two cups of tea. He walked out to the balcony.

The reality around the island was warping. The horizon curved too much. The clouds were shaped like rabbits. Squish’s presence was rewriting the laws of physics.

"We can't hide anymore," Arthur said, placing a massive saucer (a repurposed shield) in front of Squish. "The world knows you're here. The Guild of Mages will come. The Heroes will come."

Squish blinked a massive eye. He nudged Arthur with his nose.

* TEA?*

Arthur smiled. His jaw clicked.

"Yes," Arthur said. "Tea first."

He sipped his chamomile. It tasted of nothing, but the memory was sweet.

Squish purred, a sound that vibrated the very atoms of the air, turning the steam from the tea into tiny, dancing shapes.

"They will come," Arthur acknowledged, looking at the warping horizon. "But let them come. We have the high ground. And I have plenty of yarn."

Squish rumbled in agreement.

They sat together at the edge of the map, a skeleton and a god, watching the sun rise over a world that was just a little bit stranger than it had been the day before.