(Stella steps out of her bathroom, where she’d been preparing for bed, to find “Millennium” sitting on her bed.)
Millennium: Hey, if it isn’t Stella Winterborn! How did you like my little game with the runaway bus this afternoon? Fun, right?
Stella: Wait, YOU did that? What the hell is wrong with you??
Millennium: What? It’s just a little bit of fun. You found it kind of exciting, did you not?
Stella: I almost died!
Millennium: So what? You’ve died lots of times. I always fix it.
Stella: I’M SORRY??
Millennium: …Did I say something wrong?
Stella: My life is not your little gameboard to amuse yourself with!
Millennium: Oh, don’t act so high and mighty, Stella Winterborn. You do the same thing all the time. Do you think I don’t know how many times you’ve killed that little blue hedgehog by letting him drop down into those spikes?
Stella: The difference is that the little blue hedgehog isn’t real.
Millennium: Oh? And who made you the arbiter of what’s real? Surely you can see that you’re privileging your own subjective—
Stella: We can have this conversation another time. I’m going to bed. Good night.
Millennium: You’re getting awfully bossy lately, Stella Winterborn…I like that.
(“Millennium” teleports out.)
