Jack ended up drinking the tea.

“…I haven’t had a cup of tea in four hundred years,” he said, lounging on the floor by the stove. “Or three thousand, if you count the time I’ve spent in spaces like this…”

“…So…this isn’t real?” Dreadli asked. “I’m not actually back home…it’s just a dream…”

“Yeah, you passed out cold after you ate the little Odsplut…so, I decided to write that you were dreaming, and meet you here so we could start right away.” He gulped down the last of the tea. “…Although, if it makes you feel better, everything is real when you’re an author,” he added. “Because what was real before is fake, which puts it on the same level as what was fake before, so it’s all fake, which means it’s all real.”

“…Is being an author always going to be this confusing??”

“Nah…give yourself a few centuries, and the gibberish will just come naturally.”

“Anyway, this is actually a good place to start practicing,” he went on. “Dreams are a natural exercise in creativity. Your mind already put together all of this without even trying.”

“You mean I’m writing already??”

“Pretty much. See, this is how you can do things involuntarily; when you dream, even when your mind wanders—”

“Did I write Mama Bear just now?? Will…will I have to unwrite her…?!”

“…Uh, no. Just relax, okay?”

“All you did was ‘borrow’ her,” Jack explained. “You can do that, if you’re familiar with someone else’s character. It’s actually really difficult to recreate a character you’ve already met; you usually just end up borrowing if you’re not careful. So the chances that you’ll accidentally make up a hollow clone of someone you know are pretty slim.”

“Well, then…why is it dangerous for me to try to be with them…?” Dreadli asked.

“Because you could edit them, for one thing…to be honest, you already have, in a way—”

“Oh no…!!”

“Don’t start panicking again; this time it’s fine. ‘Mama Bear’ has already been unwritten, after all…and even if she hadn’t been, I could fix it by saying this was a dream that she had. Remind me to teach that to you later…anyway, this just goes to show how easy it is to do things you don’t mean to do. Your mind isn’t just a mind anymore; it’s a tool. And a powerful one…which is why you need this.”

He pulled his tattered book out of his coat and handed it to her. “Behold, the infinite book,” he said. “Always open from the middle; never from the sides.”

Dreadlilocks did just that, and looked inside. A pair of blank pages stared back at her.

“…How is this going to help me with my mind?” she asked.

“Well, it’s like training. You learn to associate your new power with a creative activity, like writing. Gin chose baking…you can pick anything you want later, but for now, just start with this.”

Dreadlilocks pulled the quill pen out of its holder on the front cover. “But…what should I write??” she asked.

“Whatever you want,” Jack replied, standing up. “Don’t worry about borrowing or editing or anything like that; if you screw something up I’ll fix it. Just write. This is the kind of thing you learn by doing.”

He went over to the door and opened it, revealing the nighttime scenery of the forest. “…Huh, you even got the backdrop in,” he said. “You might just have an instinct for this…”

“Wait, Mr. Jack; where are you going??” Dreadli asked.

“Back to the “real” world,” he answered. “I do have to keep tabs on Mother…besides, if I’m going to timescale you so that you can practice, it’ll work better if I’m not here.”

“You’re going to leave me here? By myself…?”

“This is your mind,” he replied, as he closed the door. “What are you afraid of…?”