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the dead pleading to stay dead, nothing more. Do you want
those poor children to stay dead forever, Vincent?
Young Vincent: No.

***

Lilly’s face lacked even a shred of understanding—it
merely hung dead and vengeful, long lost to the tides of
pain that had stayed her soul from oblivion. Neither she
nor the rest of the dead children understood what had been
done to them, for them. And while I didn’t share my father’s
particular views concerning the role of children in art, I was
nonetheless sympathetic to his efforts, if not his methods.
However, my sympathy was not shared by the deceased
children standing before me.
“I did not allow you to die, little ones,” I said gently. “I
had been given to believe, incorrectly, that you were being
made to truly live, as once we all did before all this death
became us. I am so truly sorry that my father’s efforts failed
you. But, I am afraid I cannot be the inheritor of his sins.
All I can do is hope that my efforts will be more successful
than his. Perhaps you might assist me in my efforts, if you
truly care to rid yourself of all that aforementioned death.
I want nothing more than for you to learn to dream again,
little ones.”
I knelt down before Lilly, and the little corpse searched
my eyes, finding only death, dream, and truth. I could feel
the dead flower of her soul take strength from my conviction,
blooming in the darkness of her tiny, beautiful sadness. She
threw her arms around me and sobbed into the shadows.
One after another, the dead children came to me. With each
new embrace, my strength swelled, joining with the power
of the Red Dream. Their fragile, wonderful hugs were so
filled with hope, even after death. It was that rootless little

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