Bugz thought of the Floraverse. She withdrew three more strips of bark, lined up their tops, and started braiding again. She thought back to the first time she’d realized she could respawn at will, in this very spot. It felt so long ago, though only a couple of years had passed since then. She’d come here to get some quiet after someone at school said something racist to her. She hadn’t felt like telling her parents because they would’ve turned it into some big thing. Meetings, phone calls, standing up for yourself. Bugz didn’t want to be a hero that day; she just wanted to get away from the hurt. Instead, she found her destiny: a source of nearly unlimited power. She wove more strips of bark into the braid. Within a few weeks of her discovery, she’d figured out how to bend the Floraverse to her will. And a few weeks after that, she’d built many of her creatures. Soon, the views on her streams took off, and the money and fame followed. It’s all gone now. She laid down her newest braid.

Bugz collected the three braids and examined them from top to bottom, pulling on them length-wise to test their strength. She lined up their tops and tied the bundle together with a shorter piece of bark. She weaved the three braids together, working slowly, diligently, and with great focus.

Bugz’s thoughts traveled to the Floraverse. She flew over Lake of the Torches again. She saw flames burning contentedly along the shores. Everywhere she looked, her creatures lived again in her mind’s eye. Sturgeon swam leisurely amidst the black waves. Thunderbirds swooped back and forth in the sky. Scores of animals frolicked along the beach. In the center of it all was Mishi-pizhiw, corkscrewing his serpentine body over and over again in a never-ending loop of pure joy. She’d raised Mishi-pizhiw as her first creation and had invested every new insight and technique she learned from the Floraverse into his development. He was the pinnacle of her prowess and the greatest recipient of her affection. “My baby,” she caught herself whispering. She finished braiding the strands together and examined her creation.

Bugz held the thick cedar rope in her hand. It looked like sisal, cowboy rope, right down to the frayed edges. She ran her hand over its rough contours and pulled on it hard. It had very little give. Bugz sighed. She felt an unrelenting ache at the center of her soul. She wanted it to end.