[private]

[curtainwizard]

This might be the mansion, or it might not.

The corridors are there. The rooms are there, all acting as they should. The kitchens are still there and functioning (for now, Light interjects darkly to himself). And yet the people

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[firstpuzzle]

[Near isn't floating when he appears, or at least, not any more than he can help. His feet will never touch the ground unless he becomes human again. Like Light, he's more isolated than he would care to admit. He tips his head and twirls his hair.]

Hello, Light. Hello, Periwinkle.

[curtainwizard]

[There's a pause as Light looks up, rather slowly, as if his head's too heavy. His sketchbook's on the dresser, within arm's reach, and his hands are folded around his knees. The casual dress - no shoes, shirt untucked, hair rumpled - isn't entirely atypical for the way he is in private. It would astonish any non-omnipotent observers, though.

Only one person's had the privilege of seeing Light's room before - someone not a universe away from Near, as it happens. The room's dingy, dark, and poorly appointed, just as it's always been. Just as Light's felt all along - sometimes hidden deeper than other times, but always there.]

It is him, then. I wondered.

How did you get in here, Near?

[While he's not pleased about the intrusion, he isn't wholly displeased to see Near, either; he sounds low and depressed.]

[firstpuzzle]

There is no place I cannot go. You know this.

You are wondering, I think, whether this is real, or if it is a figment of your imagination.

[curtainwizard]

Wouldn't - well, I won't ask whether you would.

[His voice is rusty; he's barely used it in months. It's beneath him to whisper to the cat, or to himself - though perhaps he's murmured doubts to his reflection, now and then.]

Do you blame me?

[firstpuzzle]

I never blame anyone, Light.

[He curls up into his usual pose, one knee to his chest, quite ignoring gravity.]

Perhaps the real question is: what do you need it to be?

[curtainwizard]

Are you asking whether I hope I've disappeared into a world of my own making?

[Near, he thinks, should know him far better than that.]

[firstpuzzle]

Not at all. But you do know that our expectations influence what we experience.

[curtainwizard]

You said-

[He's reminded of another conversation, which seems very long ago, and of an argument he hadn't credited then, and doesn't now.

The instinctive, impenetrable arrogance he wore back then seems a world away; he's quieter now, even more remote, if that's possible, but still convinced of his own rightness.]

You did say once that the logical outcome of what I did would be a world where I was alone. Is that the point of this, do you think?

[firstpuzzle]

Now, Light, I am certain you know that that is the sort of question I prefer humans to answer for themselves.

[curtainwizard]

I thought you saw yourself as more of a guide.

[The question does interest him - but rather than contemplate it now, he shifts against the wall, and twists his fingers. It isn't true, anyway. He knows better.]

Isn't that it? Why are you even here now? You don't intervene, except when you're bored - then you drop by to chat. I could almost be flattered.

[Though he does wonder how many more people like him there are - people who have God's ear, or are convinced that they do. On the other hand, Light's contemplated his own sanity, from time to time, but never truly doubted it - not even since his death.]

[firstpuzzle]

I see myself as a Zen master. Or, if you like, a strict Freudian. [He makes a steno pad appear in his hand, complete with a pen tucked behind one ear, and smiles.] I listen while you reach your own conclusions, but I do not charge a reprehensible hourly rate.

[He is bored, actually, and feeling whimsical.]

[curtainwizard]

[Light's eye settles on the notepad; though its presence amuses him, his manner shifts downbeat a notch. He wouldn't - even if I asked, he'd never-]

And that makes me - what? Your patient? Your pet?

[It's not a serious plan, not really; he knows Near would never agree, for a start. And it's not as if Light doesn't realise how far he's fallen (or how far he's come), to be ready to consider ... just asking, and asking this one of all. Near, can I have my notebook back?

It feels as much like desperation to him as anything he can think of, because it is. And it hadn't been the book, had it, but the purpose he'd put it to? Hadn't it?]

[firstpuzzle]

I would like to say you are my friend, but I have a suspicion you would not like it so well.

[Just to be contrary, he twirls his hair with the pen, bobbing up and down in mid-air.]

Of course, you have never believed that I actually care about humans, have you? But even if I had the power to give you what you think you need, I would not, for your sake.

[curtainwizard]

[The twirl and the bob are met with a squint of boredom; Light knows perfectly well Near's capable of more than that. Stretching out his legs, he leans back on one elbow, twisting his fingers into the pillowcase. Periwinkle clambers to his feet, disturbed, and Light shoots him a bilious glare: come near me, and we're through. He relates to the cat rather as he often did to Misa, and as - he still suspects - Near does to him.]

That's why I'd never ask. Except, maybe, to see your face if I did.

[The cat settles down again, ignoring both gods.]

Are you saying you don't have the power to do so?

[firstpuzzle]

[Leave it to Light to zero in on that part.]

My powers are limited to those things that would affect my own world. I cannot, and would not, create or restore the power to take life from others.

And I think you would find my expression disappointing, if you asked.

[Since it would most likely consist only of an eyebrow raised into his fringe, accompanied by a sigh.]

[curtainwizard]

[He does have an interest in that kind of thing - all the ways people influence each other, and all the ways control's exerted. But he just purses his lips, and tilts his head in a shrug: it's always the way.]

So many things turn out to be disappointing, in the end.

I'm curious, Near. I know the notebook exists in your world - but the shinigami, they don't? They wouldn't have fit in with your - pantheon?

[The argument he's considering is where the line is placed between things that can kill, and things that can't. Who gets the magic word?]