The snowstorm was far fiercer than it had ever been. The wind was fighting against him, battling to keep Dimentio from meeting up with Mr. L. The walk to the other cabin was brief, but Dimentio almost chose not to go when he saw how harsh the outside world had become. A swirling mass of white had turned the world to darkness, obscuring Dimentio's vision and causing his winter cloak to violently flap as if trapped and trying to escape. 

Mr. L opened his door and was about to wave Dimentio over, only for the wind to slam it shut. Dimentio could see him fall back from the force through the window. He would have turned around, but he had come so far. He couldn't back out now. 

He dug his feet into the snow below him with each step he took to keep himself grounded. It took every ounce of strength he had to reach the porch and grab ahold of the door. On the opposite side, Mr. L helped him open it, then quickly grasped both of Dimentio's wrists and pulled him inside, allowing the wind to slam the door shut once again. 

The walls separated the two of them from the storm, but Dimentio didn't feel safe yet. He could hear the wind pounding on the walls like an intruder trying to get in. It screamed and cried, bending the hinges and scratching at the windows. 

"It's a mess out there," Dimentio said, still catching his breath. It was such a distinct contrast from the way things were the day before. He missed the calmness. 

"Yeah. I was going to have us walk up to that lodge, but I think it's best we just stay in here," Mr. L admitted, running over to his small kitchen and quickly making two cups of hot chocolate. Dimentio couldn't remember ever being in Mr. L's cabin, so he took a moment to look around. It looked shockingly similar to his own, aside from the telescope set up by the window. He also had a skylight. 

Dimentio silently kicked himself for telling O'Chunks to buy the man in green a telescope while Christmas shopping. He should have naturally assumed that he already had one. 

He still had to go Christmas shopping. The holiday was only a few short days away, and he hadn't the slightest idea what he was going to get anyone. He was probably just going to wing it. Worst-case scenario, he could write cards and give coins. He usually preferred getting money anyway. It felt more valuable than most objects anyway, which was strange because in reality money was nothing more than something useless that people assigned value to. 

Mr. L placed the two cups of hot chocolate down by a small coffee table he had set up in front of the fireplace. It was low enough to the ground for them both to sit. Dimentio would have placed chairs around it, but the man in green seemed content with sitting on the floor, so he didn't complain. Besides, the rug beneath the table was comfortable enough. 

"Okay, here's the book," Mr. L said, placing Light Prognosticus in between the two of them. "I haven't opened it yet. I was going to, but... I wanted to wait for you."

"How sweet," Dimentio said with a hint of sarcasm. 

"Oh, shut up," the man in green chuckled with an eye roll. "I just..."

"You were too scared to open it on your own?" 

"Yeah," he admitted, averting his gaze slightly. "That..."

Dimentio wasn't sure why the idea of Mr. L being afraid still felt so foreign to him. It probably felt foreign to Mr. L too based on the way he was acting. It was as if the two of them had this preconceived notion that Mr. L wasn't supposed to feel fear. That was crazy, though, because everyone felt fear. 

Mr. L placed his hands on the book and took a deep breath, and for a moment, everything felt normal. Dimentio had gone back to being the supporter. He was the jester who helped Count Bleck. He was the one sledding with Nastasia and being there for her after her many rejections. He was supporting Mr. L as he overcame whatever these strange fears related to this book were.

This was different, though. He wasn't sure how or why, but it was. Mr. L wasn't the only important character. He was just important. Or, at least that's what Dimentio hoped. 

He supposed it was entirely possible that he'd never be as important as anyone else. That wasn't a pleasant thought though, and he was on winter vacation. There wasn't room for thoughts like those. 

The roar from the storm had died down slightly as Dimentio reached across the table and placed his hand on the book as well. 

"Let's both open it," he said. 

Mr. L's gaze softened. Clearly, he thought Dimentio was doing this to help him feel less afraid. That's what Dimentio wanted him to think, despite it being completely false. He just wanted to be a part of things. 

"Okay," the man in green nodded with a hint of a smile. He took another deep breath, and the two of them pulled the large book open. 

Dimentio stopped and peered at the pages before him. He wasn't seeing what his mind had expected him to see. He wasn't sure what he initially expected, though. He wanted to expect the story Count Bleck told him, but that wasn't it. 

This wasn't it either. 

"It's blank," Mr. L stated, flipping through each page. "What the..."

"Did Count Bleck lie?" Dimentio asked, looking over each and every page the man in green flipped through. There were no signs of pages having been torn out or tampered with. 

"No, I don't think he would," Mr. L said. "He has no reason to."

Dimentio shook his head, unsure of how to reply. He knew Count Bleck well enough to know that he wasn't a liar. He wasn't a villain, either. If there really was power within this book, he wouldn't lie or hide it. The story he read was real. The count had seen the words written on the page.

Dimentio had seen them too. Not anymore, but he remembered the smell of old ink on the pages. He could see from the way the count was holding the book that words had been written. Why had they vanished? Did the book no longer wish to share its stories? Or did the book just want to keep its stories secret from the two of them?

The man in green kept flipping and flipping until he came upon the very last page, where just three words were written in a handwriting that felt strangely familiar. 

This isn't real

Dimentio felt something freeze deep within him as if the words were daggers cutting through his skin. 

This could have been a prank, though. It must have been. The lodge was a public place. Someone could have easily replaced the book. Maybe Mr. L was doing this all as a joke. 

Dimentio didn't usually feel that way when being pranked though. The written words left him feeling practically sick. 

He looked up and saw the same words written in the snow covering the window. He saw them etched into the floor and walls. They surrounded him, threatening to swallow him whole. 

This isn't real, this isn't real, this isn't real.

Then, there was harsh knocking.

"Dimentio?" Nastasia's voice called, making the jester flinch. Her voice didn't seem to come from the front door. It came from all over, like an echo. 

"How does she know you're in here?" Mr. L whispered, briefly glancing at the windows. All the strange messages were gone and the blinds were down. Had they always been like that? No, they couldn't have been. Dimentio looked through the windows and saw Mr. L earlier. 

Dimentio wasn't going to answer. He could tell Mr. L wasn't either. Nastasia continued knocking, asking Dimentio where he was. 

"We need you," she said. The wind was silent.

He shook his head. He couldn't answer. Not when the voices in his head were getting louder and louder.

"Mr. L, how long have your blinds been shut?" he whispered.

"All morning," the man in green answered. 

If that were the case, then there was something wrong with them. They may have kept the light out of the room, but they weren't preventing people from looking in, which didn't make sense. Dimentio felt exposed; like the whole world could see him, even though from where he stood it looked like Mr. L was the only one. 

Nastasia stayed for a few more moments, then her footsteps retreated. Dimentio didn't feel safer, though. He could feel eyes everywhere. He wasn't sure whose eyes he was feeling, though. The wind started up again and trees scratched on Mr. L's windows as if begging them both to stop. 

Dimentio couldn't though. He couldn't bring himself to ignore the thoughts. He was thrown right back to where he started, confused and lost. He couldn't look past all the strange things in his memories. Mr. L's leg, the stars, the lack of mirrors, the birds, nothing made sense.

But then there were things that did make sense. Like the little toad Dimentio was supposed to meet up with in a few days to talk about the book. He was real. His smile, his voice, they were all real. His friends were real, Mr. L was real. 

"We need to investigate this," Mr. L said.

"Winter vacation is almost over," Dimentio replied. "We don't have much time."

"When?"

"Huh?

"When does winter vacation even end?" Mr. L asked. "What date?"

Dimentio frowned to think it over. He knew that the vacation lasted at least a few weeks. Maybe even a month, but that seemed a little long for a vacation. He was never told an exact date, though. He assumed it would end when January came, but he had no idea when January would even come. He never knew the date. 

"I don't know," the jester quietly admitted. "Soon though. I just... I can feel it."

Mr. L nodded as if he was agreeing. Dimentio wasn't sure if he was actually feeling the same thing, or if he was rather just nodding and pretending he did. Dimentio felt a little better about the complex feelings regardless. 

"That's another thing," Mr. L added, turning his attention away from Dimentio and back down to the book. He placed his gloved fingers over the words - over the handwriting that felt so familiar to Dimentio. "What happens when winter vacation ends?"

Dimentio couldn't answer. He wanted to say that they'd just go back to work, but he had no idea what work was. He had no idea where home was. He could still only picture this place in his mind when he thought of home. 

He saw a house. He saw Mr. L. He saw the sun streaming through the windows and snowflakes dancing outside. He saw steam rising from hot chocolate. He saw himself drinking it, even though he preferred tea. That was home. 

But was that even real? 

He didn't know. 

He didn't know anything.

Actually, that wasn't true. There was one absolute in his life. There was one singular thought that kept him grounded. One thing he knew for certain about himself. 

It wasn't that he loved his friends. It wasn't that he could trust them. He knew he could, of course, but he didn't really know. He didn't even know if he could really trust Mr. L. Or himself. He didn't know if snow was real, he didn't know if the world really had seasons, he didn't know if mirrors ever existed, and he didn't know if he ever wore a mask to begin with. He didn't even know if he ever really was a jester. He didn't know who the man from his reflection in the window was, he didn't know the Count's father's name, he didn't know what Tippi looked like before turning into a butterfly, he didn't even know who the handwriting belonged to.

He knew one thing, though. 

His heart was still beating. He was alive. 

And he didn't want to die.