[ The fungus doesn't try to hold her—or either of you, really; it sloughs away easily, leaving behind a fine coating of slimy putrefaction. But you catch its attention, the mushroom-crested head turning your way.

It—she?—leans over to Hurricane. She is whispering again. ]

A͘n͜d t͡he ha͟nd͝ of̵ t͘he st͝ru̸gg͠l͞e̴ wit͢hin͠?͡ th͢e ̨fatal̛ ̴so͞fţn͏e̸s̷s in ţhe̷ ga̴r͘d͟ener̸’s ̕p̶almś –͢
͝ ̛ ̕ ̛ ̧ ͏ ́ ̶ ̀ ̨ ̸ ̢ ̧ ̕ ͏ ͜ ̴ ͟ ͟ ̢ ͞ ͘yo̡u l͜earn ͞t̡o revel҉, in t́h͏is̷ you͞ swo̡re͏ t̨o ͟c͡arry ̧i̷n͢ y͞o͠u, sw̸or͠e̴ ̴y̡ou s̡ẃo͏r͝e͘.

I ̶c̸òn̕s̸tr̕uct ar̡c̨a͜di̷as̷ ͘to fo̸rgȩt ͘my̷ ̷ach̡e,͠ ͠I d̕ec͝orat̛e͘ t̵he͢ l̵i̧g͢ht̕,
̡havin͘g ͜s̷o̷ ́l҉itţle o͘f i҉t.

[ The words aren't really an answer. Perhaps, to this demon, they are simply the next best thing.

...And still, that slick of rot and spiderwebbing tendrils of mycelia is growing, extending out past the beach, out over the sea...
What was it that Nemesis offered, exactly?

There is more than one way to interpret the word "here." ]