If this is not a dream I cannot imagine what is; it's a classic nightmare scenario
I am in the office of one Malorie Clapet, associate professor of psychology at [text garbled] College. There is an ID badge here with my photograph on it, a pile of essays to be marked, and notes for a lecture that I am apparently meant to give this afternoon.
I
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[Switches to French]
Well, that's my last name, so I'm going to guess that man is me.
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You ... you are the butcher. The one who-
You are meant to be my HUSBAND?
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I'm not exactly too comfortable with this either, but... we will work this out, oui?
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And yes, I suppose this shall be "worked out", one way or another.
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[Long, long pause]
Nothing to fear, madam. Husband only in name for the port.
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I confess I am afraid of him.
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[Persephone is totally holding a stuffed flower and looking concerned and earnest.]
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Who are y-
[Wait. "Little bird"?]
Persephone?
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Where are you? Do you have someone to-to look after you?
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Where are you?
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I'm going to turn the video function on, but I'm going to need you to stay calm. [Because spontaneous genderswap doesn't really lend credibility to the 'not a dream' argument.]
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This was supposed to be a port... ah... gods Claudia. Have you seen a small girl, with golden curls?
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I'm afraid I have not seen any girl of that description. I'm in an office, at a small college.
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