Chapter 297 - Standards
Scarlett hadn’t known what to expect inside Arlene’s house, but even so, she felt a twinge of disappointment. She had never entered this place in the game or in Freymeadow, yet it was as unremarkable as one might expect from a rural village like this. Sparse, worn furniture filled the space, carrying a faint musty smell. Scattered toys and small objects tucked in the corners hinted at the occasional use, but overall, there wasn’t much to the place.
It made sense, of course. This wasn’t even really Arlene’s house at this point, so why should there be anything special? Still, Scarlett couldn’t deny the flicker of irrational anticipation she’d brought with her. A small part of her had even entertained the possibility of finding whatever book the older Arlene was always reading while here in Freymeadow.
Her gaze drifted over the dust-covered surfaces as she stepped farther inside. Beyond satisfying her curiosity, she’d intended to look for something that could help Arlene in her current state, but it seemed unlikely she’d find anything. Not that it mattered — if needed, she could always bring out more supplies from her [Pouch of Holding].
In what appeared to be a living room of sorts, Scarlett paused by an old wooden table surrounded by chairs. Crude drawings marred its surface, etched into the wood. Presumably, they were the work of the village children.
Her eyes lingered on the drawings.
“I fail to see the purpose in all of this,” came a voice from behind. Scarlett turned to find her younger ‘self’ stepping into the house, the girl looking over the place with mild disinterest. Curiously, her once-disheveled clothes from their earlier bout in the forest now appeared pristine. “Is there a particular reason you are wasting time trying to help that woman? It will not change the final outcome.”
Scarlett studied the girl but said nothing.
The younger Scarlett raised an eyebrow, fixing her with an expectant look. “Surely you do not feel sympathy for her? That would be strange, considering you allowed the previous version of Arlene to approach that ‘dangerous’ rift.”
“That is not the case,” Scarlett replied, returning to her cursory search around the house. “I am fully aware that this Arlene is not real.”
“Then why bother?”
Scarlett opened a dresser drawer and looked through its contents for a few moments before briefly glancing back at the girl. “What would you think if such truths had been revealed to you, were you not already aware of your existence as a mere construct of these Memories?”
“What makes you so certain that I am a construct?”